


me and mine are now set free

by scootiepuffjr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banshee!Lydia, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Druids, F/M, Flower Lore, Folklore, Halloween Rituals, M/M, Magic, Nature Lore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polish Mythology, Rituals, Russian Mythology, Slow Build, Spark!Stiles, Tree Lore, Werewolf Lore, Witch Covens, Witch!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootiepuffjr/pseuds/scootiepuffjr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...take great heed..." Stiles should have. Oh, Stiles should have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tedgie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedgie/gifts).



> I told myself I wouldn't do this. I said, "Listen, Scoot. You are going to finish this before you post any of it." I am a liar and not very good at keeping myself in line. This started out as a Practical Magic AU, as you'll be able to tell from the beginning, but it quickly derailed as I was writing. I don't like sticking to an exact script and it usually causes me to rebel against myself, which was the case with this nonsense. The story went from being a cut and dry fusion au to being an au focused on the use of one component of the original story. Oops. Also, this is for my lovely friend Tedgie, whom I promised a Christmas present to and could never force myself to write. I love you, hope this is good for now.

  
_ "He'll have hair that's as dark as night." _

 

_ A rose petal is plucked from its flower and dropped into a wooden bowl.  _

 

_ "He'll have a body that rivals Adonis with spirals at his back." _

 

_ Another is plucked from a different flower followed by one more.  _

 

_ "And eyes that swirl like the sea." _

 

_ A fourth petal.  _

 

_ "He'll be strong as an ox." _

 

_ And a fifth.  _

 

_ "He'll smell of wood and moonlight." _

 

_ Another petal removed.  _

 

_ "His favorite color will be purple and his favorite food will be strawberry cake cookies." _

 

_ Two more petals.  _

 

_ "He'll like to read in front of large windows." _

 

_ Another petal.  _

 

_ "And he'll build model rockets in his spare time." _

 

_ And another.  _

 

_ "He'll be able to find me no matter where I am." _

 

_ One more.  _

 

_ "He'll love me to the ends of the earth." _

 

_ Fresh tears are wiped off already damp cheeks.  _

 

_ "And, when the moon is full, he'll change into something beautiful." _

 

_ The last two petals fall into the bowl. It's carried to the edge of the yard, where the sod filters out and turns into dense trees and fallen leaves. It's lifted high, whispers of breath following in its wake.  _

 

_ The air shifts around the small boy. Swirling around him, funneling up to catch the petals. They float up and up until they're all gone, mingling with the trees and the silver of the moon and the stars.  _

 

_ All that's left is the boy, with his wet cheeks and his sad eyes, his trembling hands and his racing heart.  _

 

+

 

"But, it's Halloween, Stiles!"

 

"No shit, Scott. That's why I can't go, you know that."

 

Scott rolls his eyes, "Yeah, yeah. You've got magic shit to do."

 

"Say that a little louder, buddy," Stiles smiles at a passing student who shoots the two friends a confused look as she passes. 

 

"Sorry," Scott has the wherewithal to look sheepish. "But, we actually got invited, Stiles!"

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, "So go without me. Take Allison or Cedric or even Taylor. I have more important things to do than go to a dumb Halloween party."

 

Scott looks at him like he wants to protest, but they're at the door to Stiles' German class, and if Scott doesn't leave soon he'll be late to his Parisitology class. He jabs a finger at Stiles as he backs away, "We're talking about this later."

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, turning to enter the classroom. No, they aren't. 

 

+

 

Halloween, for Stiles' kind, is basically a holy day, if you can ignore the irony of that statement. It's a time to recharge their batteries and reinforce the wards and spells that have been cast that year. If you're on the opposite end of the spectrum, it's the time to fight against those wards and cast harsher, more demanding spells. It's a time when the air is electrified and pulsing so harshly that if Stiles wanted, he could reach out and mold it with his hands. It makes him feel alive, makes him vibrate in his seat as he patiently waits for his last class to end. 

 

When he pulls into the parking lot of the preserve, he sees Deaton and Morell waiting for him. He parks and greets them with a smile, shifting his backpack up on his shoulder. Morell returns it wholeheartedly, while Deaton offers a smaller version. 

 

"Happy All Hallows' Eve, Stiles," Morell says when he gets close. 

 

"Same to you," he replies, stopping a few feet from the siblings. "All's well and ready?"

 

Deaton nods and turns to lead the way into the woods. They follow the walking trail for a while, until they reach the old Oak tree then they cut left and forge their own path. The air is crisp, prickling Stiles' skin with small surges of energy. If he concentrates hard enough, he can see the swirls following alongside them. Morell starts asking him questions when they're a little less than half way there, about school and work and his friends. Eventually, the questions move on to how his wards are holding, what spells he's been practicing, how his small garden has been doing. Did he plant rosemary at the entrance? Did he fence it off with Ash? Deaton offers small comments and suggestions, but otherwise stays quiet, focusing on leading them and sifting through the sensations surrounding them. Stiles can pick each of them out, can sort them into categories: fauna, flora, Fae, natural, unnatural, pure, dark. They wrap around him and shelter him as they get closer to where they're heading. 

 

After a while, Deaton passes over a barrier of Mistletoe and Rowan that sections off a large, circular clearing. In the middle, two huge piles of wood rise up level with the tree tops. Bales of hay circle the piles. To the left are ten long tables with accompanying chairs where food is being laid out. People are fretting about making last minute preparations, sweeping the area with Broom and throwing Oak branches on the piles. Their magic swirls together to create one cohesive unit. The sweet smell of apples, caramel, and sage wafts up, and Stiles takes a deep breath. It fills his head and his chest and forces a sigh from his lips. 

 

"Stiles!"

 

Stiles turns to see a short boy waving at him from where the he's unpacking a set of plates at one of the tables. Stiles waves back and goes to tell Deaton and Morell that he'll catch them later only to see them both smiling at him with knowing eyes. Stiles huffs and indignant breath at them and tosses a wave over his shoulder as he makes his way to James. He's known the kid forever, was only thirteen when James' father started bringing the ten year old to the celebrations. He still sees the chubby kid with lips too thick and ankles too thin. They used to share hot chocolate. 

 

When Stiles makes it to James' side, the boy is replacing an empty box with a full one and moving down a few chairs. Stiles notes how his shoulders have filled out and his waist has thinned a bit since Stiles last saw him. He has let his blonde hair grow out from his customarily close crop, and Stiles can't help but wonder if it's because of the comment he made about it a few months ago. 

 

James grins up at Stiles when he makes it to James' side, gently dropping his backpack beside a chair to help set out the plates. 

 

"Doing well, I hope?" James questions. 

 

"Not bad," Stiles responds, and his heart stutters when James smiles sweetly at him. There's a hopefulness and a want that tugs at the back of Stiles' mind. He pushes it away and returns the smile, plopping down a plate a little too hard. 

 

James nods toward the center of the field where Tabatha and a few others are finishing setting up the two bonfires, "Looks like Taby finally bought a new Halloween sweater."

 

Stiles glances up at his coven leader and laughs. She has replaced her traditional black cat adorned sweater for one with a jack-o-lantern. The woman possesses great power and has lead their coven into a time of peace and prosperity, but hell if she doesn't dress like a frumpy, fifty year old Kindergarden teacher. 

 

"Wonder if she got it on sale?" Stiles muses. 

 

James chuckles at the joke and Stiles let's himself enjoy the rumbling sound for a second, just enough to hate himself for it. 

 

+

 

The night continues the same way it always has. They feast on pork and chicken, apples and nuts, fresh vegetables and pastries. Everything is decadent and melts in Stiles' mouth, leaving behind the taste of nutmeg and thyme and allspice. 

 

He's seated next to Leslie, an older member who owns the bakery in town and always slips him extra tarts when he goes in for bagels. She gives him soft smiles and pats on his shoulder when she sees him in town. Morell and Deaton are in front of him, an empty seat on either side of them. The seat on the other side of Stiles is empty, too. The plate is piled high, however, with sweets and vegetables and surrounded by Hydrangea blossoms. Nestled in the flowers are a small owl figurine and a picture frame containing a wedding picture. 

 

There's laughter and small talk as everyone eats. The wind carries scents and sounds across the tables, spreading warmth and the feeling of belonging throughout the coven. At some point, after he has almost finished his meal, Stiles feels a small shift in the air surrounding him. The smell of Hydrangeas overtakes the smell of straw and food and Broom, and Stiles can feel a smidgen familiar magic mingling with his own.

 

It's a recognizable shift. Her magic was a soft kind; the kind that worms its way into you with needle sharp precision and then explodes, taking over and flooding your system with warmth. It was a relaxing kind that had the ability to calm a room full of people and make them trust her. But, at the edge, the place Stiles rarely saw or felt, there was a drop off, a cavern, that spoke of her power and ability to be ruthless. It was a dark place, where hope lost its appeal and madness waited. The combination of the two places inside her made her the best public defender in Northern California.

 

Quickly, Stiles shifts his attention from where he's trying, and failing, to wrangle some recipes from Leslie to the seat beside him. He smiles when he sees the flowers fluttering gently in the breeze and feels the old magic wafting through the space sharpen, taking over his own for a second. He breathes it in, refreshing his memories as Leslie sets a knowing hand on his arm. He shoots her a smile when Taby calls for the end of the feast. 

 

He gathers up the Hydrangeas, owl, and photo, and follows his fellow members to the two giant piles of wood. He places the items on a bale of hay and joins everyone around the mounds. The fire is lit and the air instantly becomes sharper, charged with the purifying energy of the burning wood. The smells floating through the medow assault Stiles' senses and he breathes them in deep as he joins in the chanting.  

 

He always forgets how good it feels to be surrounded by magic. After hiding it away and subduing his power, the feeling of letting go takes over and seeps into his bones. He gets lost in the rhythmic chanting and the all encompassing magic washing over him. Everyone's individual magic merges until it becomes one distinct thing hanging in the air, sweeping across the meadow.

Stiles can feel the surrounding forest coming alive. Animals, spirits, creatures skirting just at the edge of the protective barrier. Some respect the boundary, looking on with curious or knowing eyes. Others push against it, wanting in to stop the ritual, or maybe to lend aid. The lines have been drawn, however, and with the added strength of the coven and the burning wood, they're near impossible to break through.

They dance around the fires, moving between the two piles. When the initial ritual is complete, they settle down for recitings, stories, and performances. With each passing minute Stiles feels more complete and content, sitting next to what he has left of his mother and breathing in the feel of her and the magic he inherited. 

 

+

 

It lasts all night, as it tends to, and Stiles feels giddy and rejuvenated as he helps to put away the tables and the chairs. The hay bales  and ashes are left to decompose, except for the few handfuls of ashes that are gathered for various purposes throughout the year. It doesn't take long to get everything broken down and stashed in the small hut a few hundred yards into the woods. 

 

The energy is still high and palpable as Siles walks back through the forest with his mentors, breaking the Rowan and Mistletoe with their feet as they exit the clearing. He leaves them with a wave and a promise to come by Deaton's clinic before he makes the hour long trek back to campus. 

 

Stiles can't contain his smile when he pulls into his driveway and sees that his dad remembered to leave the windows open and light the candles. He finds the older man watching the morning news in his pajamas when he walks through the front door. 

 

"How'd it go?" John asks over his coffee cup. He always looks legitimately interested when he questions Stiles' work. He never understands anything Stiles explains to him, but he likes to know the process and the whys of what Stiles does, and what Claudia used to do. All John has left of her is knick knacks and a back room full of books and tools he can't hope to understand. 

 

"Really well," Stiles replies, grabbing his father's mug to take a long swig of coffee and grimacing at how little sugar John takes in it. 

 

John rolls his eyes and snatches his mug back before asking cautiously, "You, uh, you feel anything?"

 

Stiles smiles softly at the older man and nods, still feeling relaxed and carefree, "Always do. Did you?"

 

His dad adverts his eyes back to the television, staring at the screen a moment before letting out a small, "Yeah."

 

It's the same every year, they both feel her presence but they don't talk about it to any extent. When Stiles was younger, after Deaton took him as an apprentice, he would bring her up at every opportunity. He pushed and pushed until finally his dad snapped and said that he didn't want to talk about her to Stiles or anyone else. At twelve, Stiles didn't understand; he just wanted to keep her alive, to wallow in the feeling of her a little bit longer. Morell had to sit him down and explain to him that his father didn't know her like Stiles did. He couldn't feel the magic she left behind or sense her in the wind. To the sheriff she was gone forever, with the exception of a few moments on Halloween night. Stiles understood. He wouldn't want to talk about her if he couldn't feel her magic, either.

 

Stiles sighs wistfully and pats his dad's crossed legs. He leaves the man to his memories, going to his mom's back room and gathering a bag full of pine needles. The bag is old, thick woven burlap that's worn thin in some places. Stiles carries it upstairs and runs a bath, letting the water flow through the bag before filling the tub. 

 

He soaks for a while, falling alseep for a few moments before hauling himself out and to his bed. He dreams of the moon and a meadow of flowers. 

 

+

 

Stiles flails awake in a flurry of blankets and pillows, managing to roll off the bed and almost make it into a defensive stance when his bedroom door slams open with a clatter. Scott instantly holds up his hands, stopping just inside the doorway to wait for a sign that it was okay to enter like Stiles taught him to do. Stiles sighs and relaxes, dropping his head for a moment before gathering up his bed cloths and throwing them back on the bed. 

 

"Good morning, Scott," he says to his friend, who still has his hands up with a look of regret on his face. The boy looks haggard, with dirt on his face and his hair standing up on end, and _holy shit_ , "Is that blood?"

 

There's a hole in the side of Scott's shirt and Stiles can see the edge of what looks to be a gash on Scott's hip. 

 

"Yes!" Scott's voice comes out squeaky and frantic. He grabs the hem of the tattered shirt and yanks it up to reveal a large bite mark on his side "I don't know what happened last night, but I woke up in the preserve with this huge bite!"

 

"The preserve! You went into the preserve last night?" Stiles asks, disbelieving. He moves forward to look at the mark, trying to school his face into something not conveying his hatred of blood and wounds. It looks like a normal dog bite, just larger and longer. 

 

"I don't know, I guess? I was at the party and I had a little bit to drink, and I think Holden and Phil thought it'd be cool?" Scott shrugs, turning for Stiles to get a better look. 

 

Stiles sighs, poking the wound a little harder than necessary just to watch Scott wince, "The preserve is the last place you should be on Halloween night."

Up close it looks more like a wolf bite than a dog bite, and while wolves haven't been in California in years, Stiles knows better than to rule it out. No matter what it actually was, the wound needs to be dressed and disinfected. He would ask why Scott came to him instead of Melissa, but he already knows the answer to that. He got the same speech from her when they left for college that Scott did, "Unless you're dying, you're on your own after a drunken escapade." Not to mention Stiles' salves numb the area, whereas anything Melissa does will not.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, would you stop jabbing your finger in it! It hurts!" Scott pulls away from Stiles, glaring.

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves at Scott's shoulder, "Sorry, let's go downstairs and I'll patch it up."

"Thank you, mister magician."

If it weren't for risk of infection, Stiles would kick Scott and his stupid smug grin out of his life.

+

Going back to the normal world is never easy, and always leaves Stiles feeling caged and irritable. He has trouble reigning in his perceptions, gets distracted by everyone's spirits and the wild outside. He has to concentrate on pushing them away, locking up the need to feel each of them out. His head buzzes with left over energy for days afterward, making it hard for him to leave his dorm room for much more than his classes. His roommate, Kyle, keeps bringing him junk food and take-out, thinking he had the worst, or best, Halloween weekend ever. The dude's not that far off.

Scott shows up at the door after four days with papers and a book in one hand and a bag of brownies in the other. He gives Stiles a look of hope and shakes the bag a little. Stiles lets him in with a sigh.

"Kyle out?" Scott asks, motioning to the untouched side of the room. Guy is a neat freak and keeps his area immaculate. Stiles' isn't necessarily dirty, but he doesn't fret over loose papers or the random left over fast food bag much.

"Yeah, his boyfriend's in the play. I think tonight's opening night," Stiles shrugs, dropping down onto his bed and scooting up to make room for Scott who settles toward the foot of the bed. Stiles motions for the bag and snatches it out of Scott's hands when he holds it out. He nods to the book and papers while shoving a brownie in his mouth, "Wassat?"

"History," Scott groans, tossing the stack and book on the bed where it all bounces before settling.

Stiles nods, stuffing another brownie into his mouth, "What century?"

"Eighteenth," Scott replies, grabbing the bag to get his own brownie out.

Stiles shuffles everything around with one hand, tossing open the book at where Scott's bookmark is sticking out. He skims the material until his vision starts to go a little fuzzy. He closes his eyes tightly for a moment, willing the buzzing to settle before opening his eyes again.

Scott gives him a look, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Stiles waves it off. "It's just residual."

Scott nods before perking up, "Oh shit, speaking of your magic stuff! That crap you mixed up was the best!"

"Good! So, it's healing nicely then?" Stiles knew it would. He uses his mother's recipes; they always work.

"Nicely? It's completely healed," Scott's grinning like it's the best thing ever, but the statement takes Stiles aback. "I've been having really strange dreams, though. And, I think that stuff may have made me sleepwalk some."

"Completely healed?" Stiles questions.

Scott pulls his shirt up and turns so that Stiles can see the smooth skin of his hip, which doesn't look like it was bitten by a wild animal just five days ago. Stiles stares at it, reaches out and slaps at it a little which Scott yelps at.

"Dude," Stiles says after poking at it some more. "That was not me."

Scott's eyebrows draw down, and he drops his shirt, "What?"

"My ointment would not have healed that bite that fast, and it wouldn't have given you nightmares or made you sleepwalk," Stiles explains, wracking his brain for what would make this happen. It looked like a normal animal bite. His ointment would have healed it quicker than normal means, but heal it in five days? Never.

"Maybe because it was Halloween?" Scott tries, but Stiles shakes his head.

"No. My magic would have been a little bit enhanced, but no where near that much," Stiles worries his lip, still trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe he had done something to the ointment in his still sleepy state that had caused it to be extra potent. "I think maybe we should-"

"Call Deaton," Scott finishes with a sigh. "Just, ask him to not tell my mom."

Stiles snorts as he fishes out his phone from under his pillow, "Ask Deaton to keep a secret? Good luck with that."

+

Calling Deaton confuses Stiles even more, which should not be surprising. The man defines cryptic as well as his sister does. He hums and tells Stiles to haul Scott back to the clinic that weekend. When Stiles questions if Deaton knows what happened with Scott, he gets, "I'll see you Friday night," as an answer.

Stiles scours the internet and what little of his mother's books he brought to school with him in the meantime. The only answer he gets from his trusty web searches is werewolves, and he knows that to be wrong. The books don't supply an answer, either. All it does is make his headache linger longer and piss him off.

Friday rolls around and Stiles and Scott do it up big on the way back to Beacon Hills. Meaning, they order fast food from three different places and sing along to their throwback mix as loud as possible. It's awesome, until they pull up to the clinic and get out. Scott gives Stiles a nervous smile, and Stiles returns it with more confidence than he actually feels, leading the way into the building.

The door dings as they enter, and they make their way to the back office when Deaton doesn't appear. They find him behind his desk, surrounded by dusty books. The air is thick with Deaton's magic and the magic from the words in the books. It raddles Stiles a bit, being in an enclosed space with so much magic after being cut off from it for a week.

Deaton gives them both a small smile and a nod, "Stiles. Scott."

Scott gives a little wave as Stiles asks the customary, "All's well?"

Another nod and Deaton's standing, motioning for them to follow him from the office. He leads them into the back examination room where he opens a cabinet and rummages around. Scott hops up onto the metal table while Stiles hangs back, watching what Deaton is pulling from his stash: cayenne, Siberian ginseng, hops. It's a sleeping tea.

"So," Stiles says as Deaton mixes the herbs into a small Ziploc bag. "Any ideas?"

Deaton turns and hands the bag to Scott who stares at it with raised eyebrows, "Stiles says you received an unusual bite."

"Yeah," Scott nods. "I can't remember what bit me, but it was big."

"And, the bite looked like a dog bite?" Deaton questions, moving to return the herbs to the cabinet.

"It was bigger than any dog bite I've seen," Scott shrugs, touching his hip over his shirt with the pads of his fingers.

Deaton closes the cabinet, turning to lean his back against it. He still doesn't look surprised by any of the information as he looks to Stiles, "And, the salve?"

"Just your normal every day healing salve," Stiles offers.

Deaton nods, crossing his arms over his chest, "The nightmares?"

Scott swallows, "They're, um, really intense. And, I keep waking up in the woods."

Deaton tilts his head slightly. He looks like he's thinking, mulling something over, but he still looks calm which grates on Stiles nerves as always. Stiles is about to question if Deaton is going to freaking help somehow other than mixing a tea Stiles could have mixed himself when the ding of the front door interrupts him. The air changes, becomes edgier, harsher, and Stiles tenses. Something pushes against his magic, something that feels rough and animalistic. It swirls around as footsteps lead it closer. Two, two _somethings_ , one more refined than the other.

No, four. There are four different spirits merging together to make two, skirting in and out of each other. They push against Stiles for a moment, invade his space and make him gasp in a breath before retreating. Stiles looks at Deaton in silent question, but receives only that same small smirk as an answer.

"Alan," a woman smiles as she crosses the threshold. She's older, probably around his dad's age, with dark hair and sharp features. There's something in her eyes; it reminds Stiles of the way his mother's had shown in the light, like she was always assessing the situation. A girl follows her in. She looks to be a daughter, at least a niece, about Stiles and Scott's age with a brow line and hair matching the older woman's. Her features are rounder, however, softer, and there's a fire in her that mixes with everything else and sets Stiles on edge.

 

S tiles immediately takes a few steps away from them when they enter. They both turn to him, the older giving him a softer look and the younger rolling her eyes.

"Ah, Talia. Come on in. And, you've brought Cora, excellent, " Deaton offers a small smile with his greeting, still looking calm.

Stiles grits his teeth. They feel wrong, like there's something raging just behind the surface of their humanness. He moves back some more, bumping against the table Scott's still on. Scott gives him a look, questioning, but Stiles just shakes his head in reply. He knows what they feel like, pieces it together with the information he has read over the week. The information he shrugged off as impossible fairy tales; an animal spirit and a human spirit living inside one body.

"Alan," the older woman looks amused as she rakes her eyes over Stiles and Scott. "The young ones seem a bit apprehensive."

Deaton sighs, "Yes, well-"

"They don't exist," Stiles cuts in, receiving a glare from the younger one and a smile from the older. He hears Deaton sigh again behind him, but he doesn't care. "My mother told me."

"Yeah, your mother lied," the younger spits at him, and Stiles automatically feels his lip curl up in anger.

"Cora," the older woman chastises, brow furrowing into disbelief before she turns back to Stiles. She regards him coolly, "Tell me child, are you the son of Claudia Stilinski?"

Stiles bristles at his mother's name. Scott sucks in a breath next to him as Stiles asks, "What if I am?"

She softens her expression a bit, offers him a small smile. It reeks of pity and Stiles hates it, hasn't had to see that look much since he left for college. The woman, Talia, Stiles presumes, takes a few slow steps towards him, "That explains it. Your mother helped us many times."

"No," Stiles says.

Talia's smile never wavers, but Cora rolls her eyes, "Just let me show him. It'll be faster."

She moves forward quickly, body rigid, and Stiles clambers away, moving around the table and grabbing onto Scotts shoulder, ready to yank his friend away from danger. Talia steps in front of Cora, but Stiles catches a flash of bright blue eyes where brown ones were before, feels it in the air as the animal takes over for a split second. It feels like a separate spirit, like there's an actual wolf in the room with them. It reaches out, paws at him a little. Stiles reacts instantly, yanking Scott off the table backwards, almost falling when his friend scrambles to keep up. He puts himself between Scott and the two women, body tight and ready to fight.

"Stiles!" Deaton shouts, moving in front of Stiles. "Calm down."

Stiles feels it then, the charge he had been involuntarily sending through the air. He drops the hands he'd had up, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. When he opens his eyes, Deaton has moved from in front of him. Talia looks slightly amused in stark contrast to Cora's frightened eyes.

"Dude," Stiles hears from behind him.

He looks over his shoulder to find that he had Scott backed against the wall. Stiles moves away quickly, allowing Scott have some room to breathe and pick up the bag of herbs where it had been thrown in the shuffle, "Shit, sorry."

"Can you give us a minute?" Deaton asks from where he's returned to stand in front of the cabinet. Talia and Cora nod, and Talia clasps Cora around the back of her neck to lead her back to the front, pushing a little harder than necessary as the girl turns her head to eye Stiles again. "Stiles-"

"She told me specifically that they weren't real," Stiles says as Scott moves to sit up on the table again.

"I know," Deaton nods. "I advised her to."

Stiles sucks in a breath through his teeth, "Why?"

                                                                                                          


"For a while, your mother worked with the Beacon Hills pack, using her skills to heal them, help them protect their territory," Deaton explains.

"I'm sorry, pack?" Scott cuts in. "What are we talking about exactly? And, why did you just freak out?"

Scott laughs when Deaton answers, "Werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Scott sounds incredulous. "Are you saying that I was bit by a werewolf? And, those two women are werewolves?"

Deaton shrugs, and Stiles balls his hands up, "There's no mention of them in any of her books! I would have ran up on them somewhere!"

"Then you don't have all of her books," Deaton shrugs again, and Stiles wants to throw something big at his head.

Stiles has to look away for a moment, gather himself, "Okay, let's pretend that this is a thing. Werewolves are real, and Mom lied to me about them. She had to have known that eventually I would find out!"

"She had hoped you would be normal."

" _Normal?_ "

"Without an affinity for magic."

 

The room is silent for a moment, still as the words hit Stiles. Magic is the link between Stiles and his mother that can never dissolve. She had shown such pride in teaching him her ways, such happiness at how quickly he took to it all. Stiles can't believe she had ever hoped he would live without it, without the very thing that made him who he was.

"But, Stiles has always told me that it's in his bones," Scott breaks the silence, confused.

 

He had. It was how Stiles had described it to Scott after accidentally charging Scott's room when they were young. Melissa knew, of course, about Stiles and his mother. Claudia had actually tried to teach Melissa a few small rituals after Scott's father left to help with protection and emotional healing. Melissa still swept with Broom every once and a while and requested regular meditation sessions with Stiles, so magic had become a part of Scott's life as well. And, while he didn't understand most of it, he was accepting of it to the point of eager interest. They had spent many nights surrounded in junk food while Stiles read to Scott about creatures and Nymphs, goblins and pixies, ghosts and spirits.

"I believe it is. Stiles turned out to be a very different circumstance," Deaton says it like he's talking about a case study, all facts and figures. It makes Stiles' stomach churn.

Stiles presses against his eyes with the palms of his hands, "This is way too much information for me to process right now."

"Then let's dumb it down," Deaton says, and Stiles laughs. That's what they would do when Stiles first started working on his magic. If something was too complicated, they would dumb it down. Stiles would be lying if he said he didn't still use the technique in college. "There is a very big possibility that Scott was bitten by a werewolf."

"Cool," Scott grins at Stiles.

"So not cool," Stiles sighs.

+

They agree to have dinner with Talia's family the next night; the Hales, their name is Hale. Stiles feels a tug of recognition at the name, wracks his brain to figure out where he knows it from. It hits him after he drops Scott off at his mom's, he went to school with some Hales, but something happened and they got pulled out, homeschooled. Stiles wonders if Cora was in his class.

Stiles enters his dad's to find the man camped out of the couch with a pizza box from the greasy joint closest to the house. John has a slice half way to his mouth when he sees Stiles. He stares at his son with a guilty look and starts to say something, maybe explain it away, but Stiles stomps over and collapses next to him. He snatches his own slice and shoves half of it in his mouth at once.

John nods, and slowly takes a small bite of his own piece, "Stiles, wasn't expecting you this weekend."

Stiles bites at the rest of his slice, "Did you know about werewolves?"

John sputters, coughing on some of his pizza, "What?"

"Werewolves," Stiles grabs another slice. "Did you know?"

John clears his throat, "Your, uh, your mother worked with some for a while."

Stiles glares at his father and rips off a chunk of pizza with his teeth, "And, you never thought 'Oh, hey, I should maybe let my magical, witch-son know about these supernatural creatures running around'?"

His dad shrugs, finishing off his pizza and wiping his hands on his uniform pants, "Claudia didn't work with them for long, stopped just before you turned three. Said it was too dangerous. I thought it would say something about them in her books."

Stiles' pizza tastes bitter so he tosses the rest of it back into the box, "Apparently, she had hoped I would turn out _normal_ and decided to hide those particular volumes."

"What's bringing all this up? Did you meet one or something?" John asks, standing to gather up the food.

"Or something," Stiles returns. "I'll be in the back."

His dad nods at Stiles' back as he stands and walks down the hall to his mom's room. It still smells like her still, albeit a little stale. Her original strands of herbs still supply the room it's stock, and her magic still lingers in all the nooks and crannies. He glances around, searching for any stray books he hasn't read a hundred times over. He sighs when he comes up empty and settles for searching through the bookshelf.

Stiles looks for a while, yanking books off and thumbing through them, hoping to find anything useful. He starts to give up and begins to replace the books when he shoves one a little too far back on the shelf. A piece of the back panel pops open. _Shit_ , Stiles thinks. _Now I'm breaking her shelf._ He pulls off the books in front of that segment of shelving and yanks off the piece to find an open space where the wall should have been. A hidden compartment.

Stiles reaches into the cool darkness, has to reach in up to the middle of his bicep, and pulls out a stack of books he's never seen before. The top one is thick, leather biding the pages together. It's worn, frayed a little, and Stiles drops the other two books in his hand when he sees the small gold moon etched onto one corner.

The first page reads: "For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack." -Rudyard Kipling

Inside Stiles finds tales of wolves, shifters, weres from all over the world. Each country and civilization has it's own chapter filled with legends and lore about werewolves. Stiles skims through each chapter, catching glimpses and words. He flips the pages so fast that everything blurs together until he reaches the end, then he throws the entire book. The bookcase rattles and a few books topple off when the book hits it. Stiles' breath is coming in hard and quick, his face burning. He's enraged, betrayed. He was relying on what she left for him to find his way, to guide him and give him answers, and she had chosen to leave things out.

He grabs another book to throw, but when he lifts it a piece of paper falls out. He tosses the book away, snatches the paper up and bites his bottom lip when he sees his mother's handwriting.

_My magnificent boy, I knew you would find them,_ it reads at the top. Stiles has to stop himself from crying out in anger and grief. She knew he would find them, but she hid them anyway. There was something with her mark on it that Stiles had no clue about. He'd read every letter she'd left him. Reread all her notes until the paper smudged, and here was this other piece of her that'd been right under his nose all this time.

_I am so sorry to have hid this from you, but you must understand that this information is dangerous_ , it continues. _In the wrong hands, these books can be used as a weapon against were-kind, and that is not something I am willing to risk. By now, I have to assume that you have grown and learned. I wish I could be there to help you, see how strong you've undoubtly became. I trust Alan or Marin will explain to you why I felt the need to keep this secret from you, but I need to explain it in my own words._

_ There is a pack in Beacon Hills, the Hales. They are wonderful people. I grew up with Talia and her siblings, and I trust them. I hope that you've met them, and I urge you to at least consider letting them into your world. I know how hard it has become since I 've been sick for you to trust people, but trust me when I say that you can trust the Hales as you hopefully trust Alan and Marin. _

_ However, there are people whom I urge you not to trust, and they are the reason I had to hide this piece of our world from you. These people are called hunters, and they have a very skewed sense of justice and honor. They will use any information they gain about weres against them, claiming all sorts of insane reasons for their violent actions. _

_ A few years back, I allied myself  heavily with the Hales, helped to reinforce their land and protect them. We were attacked, by a witch and her band of hunters. They claimed that the Hale pack had gone rogue and all needed to be "put down." We were able to stop them. I put in a few calls and they were reprimanded for acting without cause or evidence of any kind, but I'm sure by the time you're reading this, they have tried again. I had to pull away, to keep you and your father safe. _

_ I had selfishly hoped that you would not show any talent for magic, but even now you show a substantial amount of power. I'm certain that you will leave a blaze in your wake. _

_ Listen closely, my little witch, werewolves, wereanimals, are no more dangerous than humans. Sometimes, less so. And, in times of trouble, look to the moon to guide you. _

_ Remain sure-footed, my love, and try not to carry the weight of the world with you. _

Stiles can't breathe when he finishes reading. The paper hanging between his hands. He reads the words again and again until they all blurr together, and then he throws the paper. He watches it float in the air a moment before settling on top of a few discarded books. He scrambles to grab it again, holding it to his chest and gasping through his emotions. Tears drip from his face onto the floor beneath him, leaving wet marks on the hardwood.

He pulls back his sorrow, reigning it in again, and snuffling away his last few tears. He smoothes out the paper, folds it gently and shuffles around to slide it into his back pocket. He pulls out the remaining books stashed in the hidden space and gathers them all up.

He has work to do.

+

Stiles is woken by someone throwing Cheetos at him. He jerks around, finds that he had fallen asleep on top of the books he had been reading in the floor. He looks toward his door to find Scott laughing around a mouth full of cheesy goodness, the bag held in one hand and a Cheeto Stiles can only assume was about to be thrown at him held in the other.

"So, you found out some shit, right?" Scott asks, stepping into the room and shuffling around to avoid the books and papers scattered everywhere.

Stiles sits up, wiping the drool from his mouth and assessing the damage. His voice comes out a little ragged, "Yeah, I found out a lot. What time is it?"

Scott plops down in Stiles' computer chair and spins around to face him, "It's like three in the afternoon, dude."

"Shit," Stiles groans, rubbing at his face. "We have to be at the Hale house at six."

"Yup," Scott agrees, shoving more food into his mouth.

"You know if you show up to dinner and don't eat shit, I'm pretty sure they'll be offended," Stiles warns, cracking his bones as he stands up.

"Naw," Scott shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of processed cheese product. "Since I got bit, I've been eating like an entire fucking football team. Mom's worried she's going to have to up my daily meal limit on my card. "

Stiles starts gathering up the books, wiping his drool stains off of a few, "Did you tell her?"

Scott stops mid-chew, "I wasn't sure if I should."

  
Stiles nods, understanding. Being a single parent was tough enough without throwing the supernatural into it. Stiles knows that for a fact. He hesitates before asking, "And Allison?"  


 

Scott stills again, his hand close to his mouth, "What am I supposed to tell her, man?"

 

Stiles nods as Scott returns to eating. He supposes going up to your girlfriend and trying to explain about the mystical world would be rather hard and frustrating, and possibly confusing for all involved.

"Did your dad know?" Scott questions, and Stiles stops his efforts to clean up his floor for a second before continuing.

"He knew a little. I found a letter," Stiles tries to keep his voice neutral, but Scott's eyebrows shoot up anyway.

"And?"

"She had a good reason for doing it. She expected me to find out, too," Stiles shrugs.

Scott nods again and grabs another handful of food right as Stiles' stomach gurgles with hunger.

"That was loud as hell," Scott snickers. "Everything's loud as hell now. Like, oh my god loud. And smells! Dude, you really gotta do that laundry in your hamper."

Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs a pillow off the bed to throw at Scott who catches it with a giant grin.

+

They turn into the Hales' driveway at quarter to six. They're both dressed nicer, Stiles in khakis and Scott in his church jeans. Stiles bounces with anxious energy, remembering how their particular brand of spirit tried to take over his at the clinic. Scott doesn't feel that way yet, and the books hadn't mentioned anything about it. Stiles suspects it won't take effect until the full moon, which is in two weeks. He's planning on asking Scott if he could document it happening. It'd be useful to have an updated book on turned weres out there, or any reliable information at all.

 

Which, Stiles was still having trouble processing. He's seen Faeries and trolls, dwarves and elves. He's even had a run in with a Leshy that he barely made it out of, but that had all been with the guidance of his mother's word. And, after believing that werewolves were absolutely a fairytale, he can't force himself to suddenly acknowledge their existence. Even after reading his mother's letter and meeting a few.

 

"Stiles, calm down. I can hear your heartbeat," Scott groans from the passenger seat, palms pressing against his ears. "And, smell your anxiety? That's weird."

 

"I'm sorry. I just don't trust these people yet," Stiles sighs, inching the jeep up the long drive. "Wait, smell my anxiety?"

 

Scott's eyes are wide as he whispers, "Werewolves," and Stiles can't help but agree.

 

It's another mile before they catch sight of the house. He can feel the wolves invading his magic the closer they get to the end of the driveway. Stiles wasn't surprised to find out that the Hales lived in the preserve. It seems fitting for them to live out here. Not only would they get freedom from nosy humans, but the natural magic of the forest is calming even to Stiles. He imagines it helps settle them as well. He's surprised, however, when the forest gives way to a huge clearing. Smack dab in the middle sits the biggest house Stiles has ever seen. It looks like an old plantation house, with big pillars and windows, but seems to be newer. The lawn surrounding it is meticulously manicured.

  
  


"How many people live here?" Scott asks, eyes wide as Stiles parks the car next to what has to be close to ten others. Scott shuffles their hostess gifts as he gets out: a bottle of Jameson for the humans and a small tin of moonbeam for the wolves.

  
  


"No idea," Stiles replies, catching sight of Talia and a man stepping out of the front door. She grins at them as they make their way up to the front steps. The feel of wolf is harsh in the air and Stiles has to push against it for a moment.

 

They pass by a bush planted right in front of the steps and Stiles hesitates. It's a Blackthorn bush, and Morrell's voice replays in his head, " _Blackthorn signifies fate. Take great heed if you run upon it growing wild somewhere_."

 

"Stiles! Scott! So great that you made it," Talia greets as they make it up the steps. "This is my husband, Ned."

 

Ned smiles at them. Cora has his facial structure, round and soft. He's a little taller than Talia and stouter. His hair's lighter, and a thick beard covers his cheeks. He reminds Stiles of Santa Claus, if Santa was a weightlifter.

 

"Well," he says. "Which one of you is the new were and which one is the witch?"

 

Scott raises his eyebrows at Stiles, who bites back a nervous chuckle and holds his hand out to Ned, "Stiles, your friendly neighborhood witch."

 

Ned's eyes sparkle with amusement as he shakes Stiles' hand, offering it to Scott afterwards, "You must be the new wolf, then?"

 

"Yes, sir," Scott nods.

 

"Usually, I'd be able to sniff you out," Ned says, tapping the side of his nose. "But, you haven't hit your first full moon, yet. You, however," he turns a finger at Stiles. "You smell very strongly."

 

Stiles is taken aback, and has to fight the urge to lift his arm and smell his armpit. He showered before he left, used unscented stuff and everything.

 

Talia laughs gently at his distraught look, jabbing her husband in the ribs with a finger, "He means your magic. He only asked which was the witch to gage your comfort level."

 

Ned looks positively gleeful.

 

The door opens and they all turn to see a head poke out. It's a woman, older than Stiles and Scott, with the same facial structure as Talia. She raises her eyebrows at all of them, "Um, We're not only hungry, but we are all dying to meet the witch who almost killed Cora."

 

"He didn't almost kill me!" comes from inside, and Stiles has to turn away from everyone and cover his laugh with a cough.

 

It doesn't work. When he turns back, the woman has stepped completely out of the door, leaving it open, and is grinning at Stiles.  

 

"You," she says, striding between her parents to get up close to Stiles. Scott laughs as she declares, "It was you. You smell like magic."

 

"Um," Stiles starts, stepping down a step to get some room between him and the still madly grinning woman. "I'm Stiles. The friendly neighborhood witch?"

 

She turns her grin up to Talia, who rolls her eyes, before looking back to Stiles. She opens her mouth to say something else, but gets interrupted by someone behind her, "He is not friendly, nor does he even live in our neighborhood."

 

Everyone turns to see Cora standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. A glare is directed toward Stiles, so he gives her a little wave. She rolls her eyes and stomps back into the house.

 

"We don't even live in a neighborhood!" the woman who is still standing very close to Stiles yells back at her. She turns back to Stiles, her grin back in place, "You should come in."

 

"Yes," Talia agrees. "What a great idea. Don't want to be rude and keep our guests outside all night, do we Laura?"

 

"Oh!" Stiles remembers, as the woman, Laura, finally gives him some space. He grabs the gifts from Scott, shooting him a glare, "Speaking of rude, these are for you."

 

Talia takes the gifts with a small smile. Laura and Ned both lean over to look at the presents.

 

"Oooh," Ned grins, picking up the whiskey. "This is the good stuff."

 

"That must be for the humans, and is this moonbeam for the wolves?" Talia asks, opening the tin. "How thoughtful, Stiles. Thank you."

 

He shrugs, a small blush creeping up his cheeks. Scott pats him on his shoulder as he passes Stiles to follow the Hales into the house, and Stiles glances at the bush once more before following.

 

+

 

The house is just as big on the inside as it looks on the outside. It feels cozy, lived-in, with toys and abandoned schoolbags left out. The walls are painted a dark brown and hardwood flooring follows them into the dining room, which is full of people. There's a table that stretches from one end of the room to the other, leaving just enough room between it and the walls for chairs to sit and move comfortably. It's covered in food, but all the plates are still empty. Everyone's talking around the table, a few flailing around animatedly, and no one looks up when they enter.

 

Stiles is consumed with the feeling of wolf that assaults him as soon as he crosses into the room. Everyone's energies swirl and mesh together, running in and out of each other. It feels like wolf, pack, family. Stiles has to take a few deep breathes, step back away from where Talia is trying to get everyone's attention. Scott touches his arm, and Stiles tries to convey that he's okay, but he's not sure if he is.

 

Most of the energies are kind, just feeling him out, and they back off quickly, but there are a few that are insistent. He feels himself getting angry, pushing harshly against the intruders to force them away.

 

Talia's voice cuts through him, "Everyone needs to calm down. Now."

 

Stiles sighs when they back off, opens eyes he doesn't remember closing, and finds everyone staring at him. Most have concerned or awed looks on their faces, a few look bored, and two or three are glaring in his direction. He starts to apologize when another takes him by surprise, shoving into his space hard enough to make him take a step back. He feels hatred well up in him as he pushes against it.

 

"Peter," Talia snaps to a man seated toward the center of the table.

 

The wolf pulls away from Stiles instantly, making him stumble and gasp. Scott grabs him to hold him up, and Stiles notices the claws. He looks up to see Scott's eyes flash a startling gold. Scott drops Stiles' arms immediately and holds up his hands, horror etching his features as the claws change back into human nails.

 

"Holy shit," Stiles rasps.

 

Talia lets out a frustrated sigh and looks Stiles in the eye, and then Scott, "Are you two okay?"

 

"Yeah," Stiles breathes, Scott nodding slowly beside him. "I'm sorry. That's never- I've never- Scott your _hands_."

 

Scott nods again, quickly this time with his hands still held up and face etched in confusion and slight horror.

 

Scott swallows and whispers, " _Werewolf_."

 

Stiles returns the word just as quietly before turning to look at Talia. She sighs again and Stiles sees her shoulders relax. She turns back to the silent, tense group and zeros back into the same man as before, Peter, who is grinning like a Coke machine just dropped an extra Coke. Stiles can't help but think that he'd find Peter ridiculously attractive if that grin wasn't so feral. Or if his wolf hadn't tried to push Stiles' magic out of his body.

 

"What in the hell was that?" Talia growls at him.

 

The rumble in her voice makes Stiles' insides quiver, but Peter simply shrugs, "Just a little experiment."

 

"Get out," Talia demands.

 

Peter's smile falls, and he stares at her in disbelief, "Alpha, I meant no disrespect."

 

Talia doesn't respond. She keeps her eyes on Peter, her face and stance leaving no room for argument. Peter's face hardens, and he rises quickly, adjusting his suit. He looks to a woman at his left, and she begins to stand and presumably follow Peter out, but Talia stops her with a, "No."

 

Peter's head snaps up to Talia's and the side of his mouth draws back in a half snarl, but Talia doesn't move. Stiles and Scott watch as he stomps out with wide eyes, turning to raise their eyebrows at each other. Talia breathes in deep, closes her eyes like she's gathering herself, and reopens them with a small smile.

 

"Please," she says to Stiles and Scott, "disregard my brother. I'm sorry that he was so rude."

 

Stiles glances at Scott, who still looks a little terrified. Scott bites his lip and says, "Um, I think maybe we should g-"

 

"No!" The outburst comes from a small girl seated a few chairs down from where Stiles is standing. "I wanna know how he did that."

 

"Tayla, sweetheart," the man next to her pats her head with a soft sigh.

 

"Did I-?" Stiles questions Talia.

 

It's Cora that answers before Talia can from the other side of the table, "You did that thing you did at Deaton's."

 

"Shit," Stiles curses, angry at himself. He's supposed to be in control of himself. "I am so sorry."

 

Talia quickly waves his apology away, "It was a reaction to Peter's intrusion. Please, sit and eat with us. I hate to think that my brother ruined your trip out here. And, I promise we will have a long discussion afterwards."

 

Stiles looks to Scott who doesn't look so scared anymore, actually looks a little curious. Scott shrugs, so Stiles sighs and agrees. There's a few happy sounds, including one from Laura who takes Stiles' arm and pulls him to two empty seats. He thinks they're for him and Scott, but Scott's shown to the other side of the table, across from Stiles, by Ned. Laura plops down in the other chair. On Stiles' right side sits a boy who looks close to his age with light, curly hair and pouty lips. He doesn't favor Talia or Ned and Stiles wonders who he is as the man grins at him. 

 

Talia and Ned take the seats at the ends of the table, and Stiles starts to grab for a roll in front of him because that Ramen earlier was not nearly enough when Laura smacks his hand down. Like a five year old. He stares at her with his mouth open because _what the hell_ , but he understands when Talia begins speaking.

 

"Now, that everyone's settle," she begins, "I would like to introduce Stiles and Scott. Stiles is the son of the late Claudia Stilinski whom some of you may remember."

 

That's met with some nods from the older people around the table. A few of them send Stiles small smiles making him even more uncomfortable.

 

Talia continues, "Scott is newly bitten. We want to welcome both of them into our home. I won't try to introduce everyone, but please introduce yourself to them at some point tonight."

 

After a small gesture by Talia, the entire table erupts in flurried movements of people grabbing for the food and resuming their earlier conversations. Laura starts filling up Stiles' plate with potatoes, pork chops, steamed broccoli, what looks to be a casserole of some sort, and three rolls. Stiles watches her pile on more and more, glancing up to see that someone next to Scott is doing the same for his friend who is staring at the plate with a look akin to a starving animal.

 

"Woah," Stiles says, holding out a hand to stop Laura from piling green beans on top of his pork chop. "That's, uh, that's great. Thank you?"

 

She grins at him and plops the beans onto her own empty plate.

 

"It's a custom," the man beside Stiles says, leaning down to speak into Stiles' ear. "You get used to it."

 

Stiles laughs gently, pulling away from the close proximity, "Is that the reason for the, uh-"

 

Stiles make a motion at how close his and the guy's body's are and the man laughs.

 

"Yeah, sort of," he nods with a grin, pulling his body back just slightly. "Sorry. Name's Isaac."

 

"Isaac," Stiles recounts, picking up a roll to shove into his mouth. Isaac continues filling his plate, forgoing putting his pork chop down to simply hold it in his mouth while he spoons food onto his plate. Stiles laughs at him, picking up his own fork to work on his food.

 

"So," Laura says beside him, drawing his attention to her. "You're our friendly neighborhood witch."

 

Isaac coughs out a laugh next to him, and Stiles raises an eyebrow in his direction. He covers his mouth and mumbles, "I'm okay," with a wave of his hand, so Stiles turns back to Laura.

 

"You do know that there's a coven, right? Like an entire group of us that's close-ish to the area," Stiles questions, spooning potatoes into his mouth.

 

Laura tenses next to him for a moment, casserole raised up to her lips, before relaxing again. Her smile is strained when she lowers her fork a little and turns to Stiles, "Yeah, we know of the coven."

 

Stiles starts to comment on her obvious discomfort, and Isaac's as well who has tensed on his other side, when the sound of a door opening quiets the room. Shuffling and footsteps can be heard coming down the hall before two men enter the dining room. They're both larger, with broad shoulders and straight posture. They look as if they've came straight from working outside somewhere, covered in what looks like sawdust and dirt. One of them favors the rest of the Hales that Stiles has met, Talia and Laura specifically, with dark features and an angular nose and jawline. The other is darker skinned, with a round face and a thicker jawline. Stiles has to remind himself that drooling at a table of werewolves is probably uncouth, but _damn_ are they both fine as hell. _Shit, can wolves smell attraction?_

 

Stiles throws those questions into the "to investigate later" bin in his brain, when the dark haired one puts his hand on Talia's shoulder. She looks up at him fondly, raising an eyebrow in question.

 

"You're late, boys," she says, affection bleeding into her tone as she glances at both of them.

 

"I'm sorry, Mom. It was getting late, and the holes still needed to be cut for the electricity tomorrow. I didn't want to hold everyone there when Boyd and I could easily finish without them," the man replies.

 

Boyd, the other one's name is Boyd, and that one's definitely a Hale. Or, do they all just call her mom?

 

Talia hums, smiling gently up at the man, "You're aware we have company."

 

Both men look up, their eyes locking onto Stiles', and _jesus_. Boyd's eyes are pretty enough, brown like Stiles', but the other guy's are beautiful. They're bright and wide, and Stiles wants to swim in them. Boyd's eyes slide to Scott, but the other man's stay locked onto Stiles'. His face pinched, eyebrows pulled down, and Stiles gasps as the guy's wolf bolts to him. It wraps around him, nuzzling and rubbing against him, showering him with affection that Stiles thinks should probably be reserved for a close friend or maybe even a lover. The guy visibly startles, and his wolf yanks away from Stiles.

 

Talia slants her eyes first at Stiles, then at the other man, clearing her throat and saying, "Derek, Boyd, have a seat, please. And, be sure to introduce yourself to our guests."

 

Derek, his name is Derek, and he is moving to sit on the side of the table opposite Stiles, a few chairs down where Stiles can hopefully manage to stare without suspicion. Boyd sits on Stiles' side, accepting a small kiss from the pretty blonde girl he sits down next to. Stiles can feel Boyd's wolf reach out to him, but it's nothing like what Derek's. It nudges at him a little, and then pulls back quickly. Stiles doesn't even register that it's feeling him out until it pulls away. Derek's eyes return briefly to Stiles' when he sits before he clears his throat and begins to fill his plate.

 

The table erupts in talk and movement again, and Isaac nudges Stiles' shoulder, "So, you went to Beacon Hills High?"

 

"Um," Stiles yanks his gaze from Derek back to Isaac, nodding a bit too fast. "Yeah, graduated three years ago."

 

"I was a year above you, then," Isaac smiles, shoving a fork full of casserole into his mouth.

 

Stiles scrunches his face, trying to recall if he can remember Isaac in school.

 

Luckily, Isaac shrugs, "I was quiet for the most part. Stayed out of everyone's way. I'm sure you heard about my father, though. The caretaker of the graveyard?"

 

It takes Stiles a minute to recall any information about a gravedigger, and he immediately feels terrible when his mind supplies the story. It must show on is face because Isaac laughs gently, picking at his plate rather than actively eating as he was before.

 

"It's okay," the man expresses. "The Hales took me in, gave me shelter when I needed it, and something even better when I wanted it."

 

"That means you're..." Stiles trails off, not sure what phrases are okay to use and what aren't.

 

Isaac beams at him, "Yep."

 

Stiles glances around the table, catching Derek's eye for a moment before the man turns his glare to his food instead, "Is everyone?"

 

Isaac begins eating again, shaking his head. He swallows before answering, "No, there's a few humans."

 

Stiles nods, stares at his plate of food and twirling his fork in the middle of his potatoes. He starts to feel cramped in this dining room full of too many spirits and voices. He can feel some wolves nipping at him, becoming steadily more pushy and comfortable the longer he sits there. He looks up to see Scott in a conversation with someone to his left, tries to stick his foot out to get his friend's attention, but the table's too wide. He can feel the panic start to bubble in his gut, tenses up when another wolf invades his spirit. It's softer than the other's, easily distinguishable, as it brushes against Stiles. He looks up to see Derek staring at him with a look of anguish on his face.

 

He feels Laura's hand on his arm just before it tugs softly on him.

 

"Come on, Stiles," she murmurs into his ear as she pulls him up.

 

Derek's eyes stay locked onto his as Laura leads him from the room, and Stiles swears he feels Derek's wolf whine when they exit the room. Laura tugs him farther into the house, past a bathroom and the kitchen. By the time they reach the backdoor, Stiles feels much better. He doesn't feel as stifled and enclosed as he did before. He breathes in deep when Laura pushes him out onto a deck. He immediately walks to the railing and leans his arms against it.

 

The air is crisp and clear as it blows gently around him. Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, feels Laura step up beside him.

 

"Sorry," he whispers, knowing that if his books were correct she'll hear him anyway.

 

"It's okay," she chuckles. "Can't have our little witch freaking out in a room full of werewolves, can we?"

 

It's meant to be a joke, but it doesn't reside well with Stiles. He's always been exceptional at keeping his magic under control, had to be, but there's something about weres that makes it hard for him to maintain it. When he opens his eyes, he feels Laura staring at him.

 

"You're not just a witch," she mutters when he looks to her.

 

He thinks about lying to her, laughing it off, maybe making up some excuse about having the ability to perform rituals quicker than anyone can see, but instead he answers, "No."

 

Laura's eyes aren't holding any of the laughter and mirth they were when she first popped her head out of the front door. She looks defeated as she turns to look out into the night. She tilts her head slightly, nostrils flaring, "Something's roaming close."

 

Stiles nods toward where she's looking, "Yeah, I can feel it. Feels Fae. Probably here because I am."

 

The stand still for a beat, Stiles tracking the magic's movements. It doesn't venture too close to the clearing, settles right outside of the tree line for a few seconds before leaving. Stiles feels Laura relax next him.

 

"What are you, Stiles?" she sighs.

 

Stiles wonders what has happened to make her ask him in such a way. Instead of questioning, he turns a smirk toward her, "Ever hear of a spark?"

 

Her eyes flit over his face, narrowing quickly. She offers up a stilted, "Yes," and nothing more.

 

Stiles doesn't let his smirk move when he nods, "Welp, that's me. Your friendly neighborhood spark."

 

He raises and flicks his right wrist with a flourish, making a small strike of energy pop out of his fingers for a split second. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but her recoiling from him with a look of worry was not it. Quickly he curls his hand, withdrawing it from the space between them.

 

He apologizes in a rush, "I didn't mean to scare you."

 

Laura doesn't relax, instead she grinds her teeth and offers a small nod.

 

"Mom wants to see you," comes from behind them.

 

Stiles jumps slightly, glaring at Cora's satisfied smirk. He turns to try and apologize to Laura again, but she waves him off. She does give him a small, strained smile before he turns to follow Cora. There are people scattered about when they enter the house. Small children running and playing underfoot, adults washing dishes and picking up, teenagers and young folk lounging as Cora leads him through the house and up the stairs. 

 

"Do you all live here?" Stiles questions, looking at all the doors and the second set of stairs on the second floor. 

 

Cora snorts, "Hell no. Do you think anyone wants to live with Peter?" 

 

She stops at a door and knocks once before opening it. The room is darker than the rest of the house. Carpeted floors, plush sitting chairs, a large desk which Talia is sitting behind. Ned shadows her and Scott's smiling at them from one of the chairs. He turns and waves at Stiles as Cora leaves, closing the door behind her. Talia motions for Stiles to sit next to Scott.

 

She gives him a concerned look, "Are you alright, Stiles?"

 

"Yeah, sorry, again," he tries for a small laugh, but it turns out rougher than he was going for. "This is all a lot to take in."

 

Ned nods, "Yes, your mother used to complain about too many spirits or something. Once she knocked Brad over without casting a spell or using her body. She said his wolf wouldn't leave her alone."

 

Ned and Talia share a laugh, but Stiles cuts it short, "You can't feel the wolves?"

 

Talia smiles at him despite his rudeness, "It feels different, I think, for us. Our wolves are a part of us. We can feel other's wolves if we concentrate and we do have some control over them, but they are often forgotten about. Left to their own devises so to speak. It takes a lot of work to be able to control your wolf, as I would guess it takes to control your spirit, as well."

 

"You can control your spirit?" Scott asks, sounding somewhat amazed. He tends to when he talks about Stiles' magic. It's still a novelty to him, something from books and movies, something foreign and whimsical, no matter how many years he's known about it.

 

Stiles nods, thinking back to how Derek's wolf had acted, sought him out seemingly without Derek's permission. And, how Peter must have had complete control over his, must have wanted everyone to know it was him doing the pushing if Talia could pick him out so easily.

"Now, I'm sure by now you have learned some about our culture, hopefully even found your mother's lost books?" Talia waits for Stiles to nod again before continuing, "So, I'm curious to know how much you've found about our hierarchy?"

 

Stiles clears his throat, thinking back to all the things he has read bout werewolves since the trip to Deaton's, "Well, I know that there's an Alpha, which I'm assuming is you."

 

Talia confirms this with a nod, smiling gently up at Ned when he makes a small noise of approval.

 

"I know that everyone else is considered Betas," Stiles continues. "There are also Omegas, but everything I've read about them seems to paint them in a negative light. Actually, I'm having some trouble differentiating the facts from the fairytales with the rest of the information. Usually I trust my mother's books, but every one seems to have a different opinion on weres and their abilities."

 

"We'll certainly be able to help you with any questions you may have, but right now I need to know what exactly you know about turning humans," Talia's face has taken a harsher look, as has Ned's beside her. The latter concerns Stiles more than the former.

 

Stiles glances at Scott, who has tensed in the chair next to him, before answering, "I've found conflicting information. Some books say that only an Alpha can turn someone. Others say that it's all about intent, and that even an Omega can turn a human when necessary. A few speak of rituals performed by humans to turn themselves."

 

Ned lets out a quiet laugh, but Talia's face never falters. She takes a deep breath and nods slightly, "That is what I feared. Stiles, only an Alpha can turn a human, and it is only done under certain circumstances. Circumstances such as an illness or something equally severe."

 

"So, did you bite me?" Scott asks, confusion evident on his face mixing with a small bit of hopefulness.

 

"No," Talia asserts, eyes narrowed. Stiles contemplates reaching out to her wolf to get a read, but decides that that's probably not the best thing to do.

 

"No? Then who bit me?" Scott throws his arm out, frustration peaking in his voice.

 

"We're not sure," Talia concedes after a moment.

 

"Could it have been another pack's Alpha?" Stiles questions.

 

"There's been no other wolves in our area," Ned shrugs. "Not even any Omegas to speak of."

 

"Besides," Talia cuts in. "There are strict laws and treaties. No self respecting pack would venture into our territory without warning, much less bite a random human."

 

Scott clenches his fists, scratches at his jaw, before standing to pace beside his chair. Stiles can feel how angry Scott is. He imagines that if Scott's wolf were more set in, it would be raging.

 

"Scott," Talia's voice is harsh, halting Scott's movements. "You're going to have to clam down."

 

Scott sucks in a few ragged breathes and Stiles closes his eyes, trying to push the most gentle energy he can toward his friend. After a moment, Stiles feels the anger pull back a little and he opens his eyes to find Scott visibly more relaxed than he was before.

 

Stiles turns back to Talia, "You're thinking something else is at play here."

 

"Exactly," Talia confirms. "And, we'd like your help figuring out exactly what or whom has been in our territory turning helpless humans and what or whom is aiding them."

 

Stiles mulls it over. He's got a full schedule, with classes and his job stocking shelves at BAM! Finals season is about to slam into him, and any extra research is going to cut into what little study time he has.

 

"What about Deaton or Morell?" Stiles tries. "They're both much more competent and knowledgeable than I am, not to mention their access to information."

 

Talia shakes her head, "Unfortunately, our alliance with Allan has been shaken somewhat in the last few years. And, Marin has her own alliances that would prevent her helping us from being beneficial to anyone."

 

Stiles sighs, pinches his eyes closed for a second. When he opens them, Scott is staring at him with a wounded look in his eyes. Right, Scott has to deal with suddenly being a mythical creature on top of finals and his tentative job at the vet clinic down the street from their college. Not to mention Scott's social life, which is ten times what Stiles' is.

 

"Yeah, alright. I'll just, uh, talk to work, I guess-"

 

"Oh no," Ned laughs. "This is going to be a pretty large job."

 

Stiles sits back in his chair, "Large job?"

 

"What are you making at that bookstore?" Talia questions. A mischievous look crosses her eyes that Stiles doesn't miss.

 

"Nine fifty an hour. About twenty hours a week, why?" Stiles narrows his eyes at both the Alpha and her Beta.

 

Talia's grin matches Peter's from earlier, "We'll double it."

 

Stiles and Scott both choke on air.

 

"What?" Stiles coughs out.

 

"You help us figure this mess out and we'll pay you nineteen dollars an hour. You'll have full use of our library and our Bestiary, so long as neither leave this house, as well as the ability to write your own timetable and work from where ever you choose," Talia explains.

 

Stiles stares at Scott who stares right back, both of their mouths wide open.

 

"Dude," Scott says. "You have to."

 

"Yeah, but what about when it's over? I can't just quit right before the Holiday season and expect to be hired back after this is all finished," Stiles exclaims.

 

Neither Talia's nor Ted's faces fall from their delighted looks.

 

"We've been discussing the need for a more updated werewolf manual for the newly bitten as well as our allies and enemies alike. As you said, there's far too much mismatched and outdated information out there, and we think it's time for some correct to be in the mix," Talia says. Ned has moved behind her, a soft look taking over his features as he looks at his wife.

 

"Stiles," Scott says, grabbing Stiles' arm and grinning like a madman. "This is literally your dream."

 

Stiles can't make his brain work. It's stuck. The Hales want to pay him to research werewolves and write a book about them. He's only studying Folklore and Mythology so he can, y'know, put some material out there that's actually helpful under the guise of it being fairytales. Literally his dream.

 

"Are you serious right now?" He questions, voice coming out squeaky.

 

Talia grins at him, "Yes."

 

"Yeah, okay, alright. When do you want me to start?" Stiles feels giddy.

 

"One catch," Ned says. "You can't let your studies fall on the backburner. You have to keep up with them, the both of you, and make acceptable grades."

 

He sounds so much like a father that Stiles has to laugh, nodding along with Scott, "Absolutely, yeah."

 

"Great," Talia beams at them. "It would probably be best for you to take your mother's books and look through them while at school. You can come back to the preserve next weekend and hunker down here. I would like Scott to come with you, so we can get a feel for him and he can get started preparing for his first full moon. Scott, while you're at school, you must remember to stay calm and keep your heart rate down like we talked about, do you understand?"

 

"Yes ma'am," Scott nods.

 

"Stiles make sure to keep an eye on him this week, and lend a hand if you think he needs it."

 

"Always," Stiles grins, patting Scott on the shoulder.

 

"Wonderful!" Talia exclaims, standing from her chair. "Now, it's getting late. You two head home, and we'll see you bright and early next Saturday."

 

They stand to leave, but Stiles hesitates in the doorway. He raps his knuckles against the frame a few times before turning back to the two weres, "That bush, the one in front of your steps?"

 

Ned's hand stops midair where he had been searching for a book. He turns to Talia who was rummaging in her desk and raises his eyebrows. She returns the gesture before prompting Stiles with, "The big one with the white flowers and thorns?"

 

"Yeah, did you plant it?" A part of Stiles feels anxious about their answer. He hasn't ever ran up on one before, but the lore surrounding them  is so strong and cohesive that he knows what it could mean if the bush sprang up one day without warning.

 

"Well, no. It popped up, oh, when we built the house," Talia shrugged. "We questioned the landscaper, but he was just as surprised. My son likes it, so we decided to keep it."

 

So it did spring up one day without warning. Fantastic, now Stiles is going to be constantly looking for what he's supposed to be weary of. His face must show some discontent because Ned asks, "Is there something we should know about that bush?"

 

Stiles shakes his head, "No, not yet at least. We'll see you next weekend."

 

  
He leaves the room with a small wave and closes the door behind him. He finds Scott looking at the family pictures hanging a few doors down. When Stiles gets to his side Scott grins,  "Dude, I think being bitten by a werewolf was the best thing to ever happen to me."  


 

Stiles snorts, "That has yet to be seen, my man."

 

Stiles feels him before he sees him, or feels his wolf rather. It slides up against him, curling around him and sighing. Like it missed him. When Derek appears around the corner, he's glaring at Stiles and his wolf is immediately ripped away.

 

Stiles takes a leap of faith and steps into the man's way, "Hey, Derek, right?"

 

Derek only stops momentarily to glare harder before pushing past Stiles to shoulder open a door down the hall.

 

"Yeah, good talk. Your mom said to introduce yourself to your guests, you know?" Stiles receives a slamming door for his efforts.

 

He raises his eyebrows at Scott who shrugs and leads the way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! It's done. It's shorter than chapter one, but I feel that it ends at a good place. If you catch any mistakes, let me know. Also, if someone would like to beta, hit me uuuuup!

  


 

  
 

Stiles can feel it. It comes into being slowly, so slowly that Stiles doesn't recognize it at first. He catches it at fleeting moments in hallways and at the meals they manage to catch together. It shows itself for only a moment before retreating quickly. At first, Stiles thinks he is feeling a spirit too far out if his reach, only catching glimpses of it because of the distance.  It's not until they're on their way back to Beacon Hills, cramped together in the Jeep, that Stiles gets a full feel of it and realizes what it is.

Stiles is shocked at how it feels; he had been bracing for it to be angry, force it's way in beside Scott's natural spirit. Instead, it slips through tentatively, sliding in and out of Scott's space gently.

"I feel off," Scott says, squirming in the passenger seat. "Like, weird."

"I think that will happen when your spirit is splitting in two," Stiles shrugs, signaling to change lanes and swearing when a car speeds up to not allow him to merge. People are dicks. 

"What?" Scott asks, alarmed. 

"Yeah, I think your getting your wolf, dude. Becoming a manwolf, weremanwolf?" Stiles glances at Scott to find wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "Being granted access to your wolf side?"

From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Scott slowly turn his head to stare out the front windshield, face still open with shock. In the small space, Stiles feels the wolf reappear again after being gone for nearly five minutes. It feels confused, weary of Stiles and the jeep and even Scott. Almost as if it doesn't understand how it came into being or what its role in the universe is. 

"Calm down, Scott," Stiles tells his friend when the wolf retreats again. 

Scott shakes his head quickly, "I can't! I feel so fucking weird. Like I can't concentrate and like I'm being pulled in so many different directions. Like-"

"Like your spirit is being split in two?" Stiles suggests, taking the exit ramp for Beacon Hills. 

"Yeah," Scott says slowly. "Do you ever feel like this?"

"Nope," Stiles shoots him a grin. "My spirit is all my own."

+

Stiles lied. He knows exactly what it feels like to have your spirit split. The way it leaves you feeling slightly empty and shaken, almost like being sick for a few days and sleeping too much. The way it yanks at you to pay attention to too many things at once, makes it impossible to retain any information. The difference is that Scott's spirit is still there. It's only changing, forming into what will be his wolf. 

But, when Stiles cast the spell, the one that made it impossible for him to love another human being, half of his soul died. It was replaced with an emptiness, a hollowness that will never be filled. 

It was a blessing, in a way. Sparks tend to have large spirits. They're easily distinguished in a crowd, radiating with energy. Stiles isn't. When someone cops a feel of his spirit, they feel a normal, unassuming spirit. It's easy to catch someone off guard that way. 

It was too easy to convince Deaton that his spirit died with his mother. It was partial truth. If Deaton knew the details of what happened to Stiles' spirit, he'd flip. 

+

It's dark by the time Stiles drops Scott off at Melissa's. A few stars peak out of the dense lights of the city. The moon sits about a week away from being full, and Stiles wonders how Scott's going to handle his first full transformation. Or, if he'll be able to transform at all. He's hoping to be there to watch it happen, documenting and providing support for his friend. 

Scott hasn't needed his help much the last week, only a few teas to help with sleep and a save from a would be indecent exposure charge when he woke up in the outskirts of town without any clothes. He's been up Allison's ass since they left Beacon Hills, though. He texted Stiles a couple of times about smells and Stiles does not want to know. 

Okay, Stiles wants to know from an academic standpoint, but not about _Allison's_ smells. An unnamed subject maybe, but not Allison who he's actually shared a bed and a drunken cuddle with once. Allison who forces him to take multivitamins. Allison who is his best bro. He does not want that information. 

His dad isn't home when he gets there. A note on the counter tells him the Sheriff is on the night shift until Tuesday, and there's a casserole that Mrs. Jonah brought over earlier this week. Stiles chuckles to himself at his dad's use of Leslie's last name. She forbade Stiles from using it right after they were introduced and still rolls her eyes at his father's refusal to use anything but. 

Stiles tosses the note in the trash and yanks the casserole out of the fridge, taking a huge bowl of it and a notebook into his mother's room. He sits in the floor and eats, staring at her bookshelf where he had placed the set of books found in the hole. They stand out from the rest of the books, looking newer and less tattered than the well read ones. Most of his mother's books originally belonged to his grandmother, an original Polish witch who only left her native land when Stiles' mother "ran off every man in the country." Stiles doesn't remember much about her, and what he does comes more from his mother's stories than from his actual accounts. His babcia had died when he was only a few years old, from the same illness that later took his mother, but she had left her legacy. She was a more than adept healer and a soothsayer, or so Stiles' mother had always claimed. She was also a note taker, Stiles knew that from the tiny Polish script scrawled in the margins of almost all the books residing on that shelf. What Polish he knew, he knew from translating that squat lettering and the times his mother slipped back into her mother tongue. His father knew nearly none, which Stiles was told had caused some strife between his dad and his babcia. His mother would always laugh and say, "You're ojciec had a Polish name, and was willing to promise me forever. Eventually, matka learned to love him."

Sitting on this bookshelf was Stiles' history, his mother's history, his grandmother's history. He's spent years pouring himself into these books, soaking up every tidbit of information and storing it inside his mind. He knows the lore behind goblins and harpies, zagaz and selkies. He knows exactly which herbs to mix together to cure a plethora of ailings, knows which plants to plant in front of a house to discourage evil, knows which trees hold the most meaning. He can recount spells and rituals, can shoot fucking magic out of his hands, but he knows next to nothing of werewolves. 

He feels angry once again at his mother for withholding important information, and then immensely guilty. She was protecting him after all; it was the only way to do so after her death. He thought of Deaton and Morrell, skipping past the lessons about werewolves in his studies and felt suddenly embarrassed. He prides himself in being knowledgeable of his work and the world surrounding him, and a huge part had been left out by his mentors. Holy shit, did the entire coven know? His face burns in the dark and a bite of casserole tastes ashy on his tongue. 

He forces the swallow down and abandons the rest of his bowl in favor of snatching a book from the shelf. He will not be ridiculed; he will learn everything there is to know about weres and write the best book out there. 

+

They arrive at the Hale house early the next morning, just as the sky turns bright and the dew still crunches underfoot. The feel of wolf is not as assaulting to Stiles' senses as it was before. Loud grunts and screeches echo from around the back of the house, and Scott turns a worried glance to Stiles. Scott's wolf hasn't made an appearance yet that morning, but Stiles has an inkling that the Hales will know just how to pull it out. 

Stiles gives his friend a reassuring smile and leads him around the house to find people he recognizes from the dinner last week standing in a large circle. The noises are coming from the middle of the circle, but the perimeter remains silent, everyone watching intently. Stiles sends a questioning look to Scott, who shrugs, before continuing their short trek. The yard is full of trees, growing thicker after about two acres out and finally turning into forest. There's a small pond with a gazebo flanking it to the right side of the yard a hundred yards! from the edge of the dense trees. Bright flowers surround the back deck and the gazebo.

Stiles can feel a few wolves jump to him, but they retreat quickly. When he reaches out, the wolves feel excited, winding through each other with such speed Stiles has trouble differentiating them from one another. Laura turns her smiling face to them as they approach closer, revealing a glimpse of two figures grappling together on the grass in the center of the circle. She waves them over and shoves both men in front of her without a word. Stiles finds himself standing next to a petit woman who doesn't acknowledge him at all.

"Watch close," Laura whispers in Stiles' ear, startling him. "I think Erica's going to beat him this time." 

It's then that the two people fly away from each other to reveal the pretty blonde Boyd had kissed the week prior and none other than Derek. Erica, Stiles assumes, has her blonde curls piled on top of her head and wears only a sports bra and a pair of shorts. Derek wears only shorts, muscles rippling as he uses the moment to stretch out his back and neck. Etched in on Derek's back is a tattoo, three swirls connecting in the center of his shoulders. Recognition strikes Stiles as he studies it; that symbol is sketched on the front of his notebook. Keep moving, it means, toward knowledge. That's the meaning Stiles picked out from the varying sayings surrounding the symbol, anyway. He liked it better than heaven, earth, and hell or any other the others. He wonders what meaning it holds for Derek.

  
Stiles feels Derek's wolf then, bounding to him quickly and whining as it nuzzles. Derek's head snaps to Stiles immediately, face contorting into something shocked. Erica leaps, catching Derek off guard and managing to smack a kiss on the surprised man's stubbled cheek as she clings to his torso with her legs. Derek grabs her left leg with one hand and crosses his opposite arm over to grab her left shoulder with the other, stepping back with his right leg and twisting to wrench her off him and slam her onto the ground. Immediately Derek's wolf bolts away from Stiles as Erica arches her body in a way that Stiles supposes signifies submission with a laugh on her lips. Derek glares at her and points a single finger down toward her. The surrounding crowd erupts in applause and hollers. The loudest come from Laura and the younger ones. 

"What just happened?" Scott asks over the noise. 

Stiles shrugs, at as much of a loss as Scott is. It seems like some sort of arena, or maybe training? He can't help but think it a little brutal as Erica stands and brushes herself off, grinning all the while. Derek rolls his eyes at the blonde, who punches his shoulder. The man's wolf pushes against Stiles again, and he turns his eyes back to Stiles. With an angry look from Derek, his wolf returns to him, and the man turns his back to Stiles. Stiles can't help the snort that comes out at Derek's back.

"Come on," Laura pulls on Stiles' arm. "Mom and Dad are inside."

As they follow Laura up the back porch steps, Scott blurts, "What the hell was that?"

The grin Laura shoots back toward them is wide. "Training."

" _That's_ training?" Scott's voice has a little bit of a peak to it, reminiscent of his prepubescent days, and Stiles can't help but agree with it.

Laura laughs as she opens the back door. "It's kind of training and playtime combined. You'll have actual training, too."

"I have asthma!" Scott exclaims.

Laura laughs harder as she rounds the kitchen island and leads them through to the hallway. "Not anymore."

Scott stops walking, "What do you mean?"

"Wait, so that's true?" Stiles butts in, stopping next to Scott.

"What's true?" Scott demands. 

Laura's smile doesn't move as she turns to step up the stairs, "Yep, getting bit can be like a cure all."

"'Can be' being the main words there," comes from the top of the stairs.  

Stiles and Scott look to find Ned looking down at them, a disapproving look turned toward Laura as she continues ascending the stairs. 

"Right," she agrees, and Stiles thinks she says it more to placate her father rather than believing it. "Can be."

Ned's eyes light up when his daughter reaches the landing, "I don't know where you're going, but the boys have been successfully delivered. Back outside with you."

Laura's face drops into disbelief and she groans before turning to head back down the stairs. 

"Boys," Ned says, motioning for them to come up. They pass Laura on the way, who glares at them and mumbles something about people getting out of training when she doesn't. Stiles has to stifle a laugh. Ned leads them into the same room they met in the week prior. Talia sits at her desk as before with light shining through the large window behind her. The entire room takes on a more welcoming feel in the daylight. Stiles hadn't noticed how dim it had been, but he can make out details he couldn't before. Details such as the paintings hanging to either side of the window behind Talia depicting the same spirals tattooed on Derek's back and drawn on Stiles' notebook.

Talia smiles at them as she continues writing. Ned motions for them to sit, and moves to kiss Talia lightly on the top of her head after they do. 

"I've got to go check on the bunch," he tells her, nodding to Scott and Stiles before leaving the room. 

Talia stops writing as the door closes and turns soft eyes first to Stiles then to Scott, "How was the week?"

Scott clears his throat, "Um, good?"

"No outbursts? No nightmares? No sleepwalking?" Talia's eyes narrow slightly.

"Well," Scott drawls, shifting in his seat. "No outbursts."

Talia sighs and sits back, making her chair squeak, "It's very important that you are completely honest with me, Scott. There are things that happen to turned weres that under normal circumstances wouldn't concern me, but the unknown surrounding your turning means I have no control over what happens to you."

Scott pales. "What kind of things?"

Talia glances at Stiles before shifting her gaze back to Scott. Stiles sits up quickly, and pulls out his phone as she begins speaking, "When an Alpha turns a human, the alpha can essentially enter the newly turned's dreams. In the past, Alphas used this to teach the turned how to hunt, show them how a fresh kill tastes, teach them how to shift. Now it's used to ease the turned into their new life as a were and as a beta." Stiles stops taking notes to glance at Scott, who looks terrified. Gently, Talia asks, "Have you had trouble sleeping, Scott?"

Stiles can feel Scott's panic, feels his wolf pop out for a second before bolting away again for the first time that morning. Stiles opens his mouth to answer for his friend, but Scott cuts him off, "I've had to drink tea Stiles made every night. And, once I woke up naked in the woods."

Talia doesn't look troubled by this when Stiles looks for her reaction, which almost worries him more. "Nightmares?" 

Scott swallows before answering, "Yeah."

Talia turns to Stiles, "What kind of tea are you giving him?"

Stiles shrugs, "Just a simple sleeping tea. I added some herbs to help him get deeper sleep."

Stiles can't help the feeling of accomplishment that wells up when Talia smiles and says, "Very smart. That stopped the nightmares?" Scott nods, which prompts Talia to ask, "What about the night in the woods? Did you have a nightmare then?"

"I can't remember," is Scott's answer.

Talia seems pleased at that, "How about you, Stiles?"

Stiles sits up a little straighter under her gaze, "I've, uh, been cross referencing some of my mother's books with internet searches, and I gotta tell yah, I've never been more frustrated."

Talia barks out a laugh that startles both Scott and Stiles, "Yes, our history is somewhat confusing. Add in everything that's been left out and switched over the centuries, and I would bet on you having a hard time. What about the search for the spell that allowed Scott's turning?"

Stiles' mouth falls open, "Oh."

Talia's smile is tight, her eyes showing her annoyance, "I thought as much. I can understand your need to learn everything you can about us given your recent eye opening, but I feel the need to stress that this is a very time sensitive situation. Scott's first full moon is coming up next week, and without his Alpha present he is in for a rough time. We need to find out who his Alpha is and how they turned him sooner rather than later. Do you understand?"

Stiles feels as though he's been chastised by his mother. He'd completely forgotten about searching for the spell, had put all of his energy in learning everything he could to keep from looking like a fool. He's been selfish. Stiles looks to find Scott's eyes turned down toward his feet. Stiles kicks one of his own out at Scott's and gives his friend a guilty smile, "I'm sorry; I got caught up. I'll dive into it, okay?"

Scott returns his smile, "I get it, man. No worries."

Stiles feels as though he should leave it alone, knows that Scott would be fine if he did, but instead he says, "I'm serious. I'm going to find it, and I'm going to figure out who cast it."

Scott's smiles turns brighter, "I know you are."

Scott's words hit Stiles harder than they should. Scott's his rock, his brother, and his biggest motivator. He states the promise over again in his head. He's going to figure all this out, and when he does, he's going to have some questions for whomever turned his friend.

Talia's voice pulls his attention, "Good. Now, Scott, you'll be training today. We can find you some clothes to borrow. And, Stiles, you have free run of my office as well as the Hale family library. We've converted some of our information onto a hard drive, but a lot of it is still pen and paper."

Stiles glances around the room and counts five bookshelves standing floor to ceiling and completely filled with books. _"...as well as the Hale family library."_ He looks at Scott to express his excitement over what has to be an extensive amount of history stored in this house only to find Scott staring wide eyed at Talia. "Laura said I don't have asthma anymore?" 

Talia sighs, "I'm sure she did. There is a reason people ask for the bite, Scott. It makes you faster, stronger, and gives you an automatic family."

"Not to mention the whole being half wolf thing," Stiles adds, smiling as Talia flashes him a fond look.

"But, besides those things, the bite can reverse illnesses and ailments. It can't regrow limbs, but it can heal things like cancer, and epilepsy, and even your asthma," Talia folds her hands on top of her desk. 

"So why not give everyone the bite? All the sick people?" Scott's confusion matches Stiles', but Stiles knows enough to know that everything has a price. There's no way that something with a payoff that sweet doesn't come with a matching catch.

Talia's face tells it all, "Scott, there are risks with the bite. Not everyone can handle it, which is why an Alpha's decision to grant someone their wish is not to be taken lightly."

There it was, and it was a doozy, But, Scott wasn't letting it go, "What're the side effects? They can't possibly be worse than going through chemo, or having tuberculosis, or AIDS."

The look Talia gives Scott is full of pity, "Scott, most people who take the bite die."

Stiles can see the words smash into Scott, sweet Scott who still periodically has to have a sad movie session with Stiles after one of his animals doesn't make it. Scott falls back into his chair and without looking up from the carpet asks, "Why did I make it, then?"

Talia waits a beat before answering, "I don't know."

+

The Hale family library is on the third floor. It might as well be the third floor since the only other rooms up there are something resembling a game room and a small bathroom. Books cover the walls from top to bottom, leaving only space enough for a huge bay window to look out into the woods on the far wall. The light shining through the panes brightens the room into something ethereal. There are three ladders, two resting the side walls and one resting on the wall he entered through. A track runs around all three walls. Two desks accompanied by chairs and small table lamps sit in the center of the room facing each other, and four plush sitting chairs bracket them, two on each side facing outward. Stiles would like to die here. 

He drops his backpack he had picked up out of the Jeep onto one of the desks and surveys the room. The sunlight catches the metallic writing on the spine of some of the books making it glitter and shine. Stiles crosses the room and carefully pulls one of the books from a shelf. It is bound in blue cloth that has worn through in some places. Written on the cover in silver is the word "Aži." When Stiles opens the book, he finds Arabic lettering sitting atop a silver serpent-like dragon. Stiles is stunned; he knows of the Wawel Dragon as well as Chinese dragons, European dragons, even American dragons, but dragons from the Middle East? Dragons from places that spoke Arabic? He has never even thought to look into that area. How stupid he has been, caught up in only what his mother had left for him. How ignorant to think of himself a scholar when there were entire continents he hadn't given enough thought to. 

A cleared throat catches his attention and he turns to find Derek standing just inside the room holding a computer in one hand and an external hard drive in the other. He still wears the same shorts as before, but his chest is now covered in a light blue shirt. His expression is one of disdain and concentration, and Stiles wonders why he doesn't feel the man's wolf. "I was told you needed the Bestiary." 

"Um, yeah, you can just put it next to my stuff," Stiles replies following Derek with his eyes as the were gently puts down the laptop and opens it up, hooking the hard drive into it. He's bent over, at the farthest desk from Stiles, and Stiles swats away thoughts of how his ass may look from behind. 

"It's password protected," Derek stands, catching Stiles' eyes and narrowing his own, looking very much like Talia. "It's set not to go to sleep, so you shouldn't need to log back in."

Stiles lets out a chuckle, "What? Don't trust me with the info?"

Derek continues glaring and offers a quick, "No," before turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," Stiles calls to Derek's back, quickly putting the book he was still holding back and memorizing it's place. Instantly, Stiles feels Derek's wolf shoot to him like it had been held back.

Derek flips around, glare magnified, and bites out, _"What?"_  


Stiles quickly tosses his hands up in apology, "Woah, dude. I just wanted to know if there was some sort of system here or not."

After a moment, Derek grinds out, "Everything's chatagorized by region, except the far right corner which is where all the combined books are."  He turns on his heal and leaves, taking his wolf with him.

+

Stiles is simultaneously in heaven and hell. He's surrounded by books detailing ancient and complicated spells, some in languages he doesn't recognize, and has already filled half of a new notebook with snippets of information he'll need to organize later. The Hale's library is extensive, containing books from nearly every country on topics Stiles has never heard of dating back to biblical times. He could spend years in here, and he hasn't even touched to Bestiary yet.

A quiet knock stops his pen from moving, and he looks to see Isaac standing in the doorway, a plate in each hand.

"Hey," the man smiles. "We're not supposed to eat in here, but Talia seemed to think you would argue against leaving the room."

Stiles laughs, "She was right."

Isaac nods at Stiles' piles as he brings the plates into the room, "Find anything good?"

Stiles shuffles the books and papers around to make room for Isaac to put the plates down. One has a sandwich and some chips on it, the other is piled high with pink cookies.

"Um, yeah. Lots. Sorry, are those strawberry cake cookies?" Stiles can't hold back his excitement.

Isaac chuckles from where he's dragging the other office chair around to sit in from of the desk. "Don't tell me you're obsessed with them, too."

"Have you had them? They're pretty much magic on a plate." Stiles grabs two, shoving one into his mouth.

"You'd be the expert on that, I guess."

Stiles swallows, "Do you, uh- I don't really know what I'm asking. Are you scared of me?"

A laugh erupts from Isaac and the man takes a second to recover from it, his cheeks red, "No. Although I'm sure you could drown me in midair or some crazy shit like that."

"My powers are more energy based, although it would be badass to drown someone without any water," Stiles smiles. "It's just that I get the feeling I cause some of your family to be on edge."

Isaac stares at him for a moment, bottom lip worried between his teeth. "You should probably ask an actual Hale about that; I wasn't turned until just after we graduated."

"I was curious about that, too. Talia said that she only turns people under certain circumstances." Isaac looks uncomfortable at the question. "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me."

Isaac picks up a cookie, turns it on its side and twirls it on top of the desk. "You don't need to apologize. It's just a little bit of a long story."

"Does it have something to do with his death?" The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them.

Isaac's hand jerks and the cookie falls to the desktop. The smile he sends to Stiles is bitter, "Yes."

Stiles nods, fingers fiddling with the edge of the sandwich he still hasn't touched. He shouldn't have asked that, when he opens his mouth to say so, Isaac is standing and moving the chair back to it's place. Stiles manages a quick, "Thank you for the lunch," before Isaac's back leaves his eyesight.

+

The only time Stiles moves is to grab another book and turn on the light when the sun goes down. He reads through book after book, picking up tidbits and searching for anything that may relate to turning a human into something else. He found entire books of spells written in Russian, Hindi, Japanese, and many other languages. Books detailing the usage and gathering of herbs, rituals for fertility, symbols to improve your health. His head is swimming with the possibilities the books in this library held. He could spend years in here, translating and categorizing, but for now he is on a mission. A mission he is apparently failing at.

He has found a total of zero spells or rituals or incantations that can turn a human into something else. Nothing in English anyway. The Hales have certainly obtained a large amount of sorcery and magic books, but that is where it ends. The books appear to have been stuck in their spot on the shelf and forgotten about, which left a lot of translating for Stiles.

"Wow, I haven't been up here in ages." Stiles jumps, knocking over a stack of books and flailing to try to catch them before they hit the floor. He manages one. When he looks up, he finds a tall woman laughing at him from the doorway. She favors both Talia and Peter, with light hair and round cheeks. Stiles doesn't feel a wolf. "Sorry."

"No problem," Stiles gives her a small smile, bending back down to gather the rest of the books. When he sits up, she's standing right in front of the desk, grinning at him. "Hello."

"Hi, I was sent to retrieve you. It seems skipping lunch is excusable, but skipping supper is not." Her grin remains in place.

"Alright, I'll be right down," Stiles says, hoping she'll leave.

The lady doesn't move, instead she picks up one of the books that had fallen and opens the cover. "You know, when we were kids, I thought that all I had to do was recite the words on these pages and kazam! Instant druid."

Stiles lets out an uncertain laugh, "Oh, yeah?"

"Mmhmm." She turns her grin back to him, putting the book back on top of its stack, "Burned Peter's eyebrows straight off."

Stiles' laugh is loud and the woman's matches it. "What went wrong? Did your wolf interfere, or?"

"Oh, no. No wolf here. I'm as human as you." She thinks for a moment, "Well, not you. As human as Sheryl Crow."

"That's why I didn't feel your wolf." It made sense. "I thought maybe you could just control it, like Peter."

"Nope. Just your friendly pack human." She grins at the use of Stiles' words. Her fingers tap lightly on the books, moving from one pile to another. "I'm Deandra, by the way. De, for short, or An, or whatever."

Stiles' attempt to return her introduction is interrupted by a small voice accompanied by a small, running body. "Auntie De!"

He recognizes the child as the same one who called him out for his energy surge the week before. Deandra lifts the little girl into the air, tossing her up quickly and giggling along with her, "What's up, Tay?"

"Aunt Talia said for you two to hurry up." Tayla's eyes turn down to Stiles. "I'm really glad you came back."

"Tayla, here, loves any type of magic," Deandra informs him. "We have watched every movie on Netflix and then some."

"I want to do it!" Tayla proclaims.

Deandra smiles at her, "We'll have to work on it, huh?" When Tayla agrees, Deandra hugs her once and then puts her down. "Go tell Talia we're on our way."

When Tayla has skipped out the door, Stiles asks, "I didn't feel a wolf from her either?"

"She's too young. It'll come later."

"Like Scott's?" Stiles questions, remembering the day before.

Deandra shrugs, "I guess. I dunno, never been able to feel them."

"Right, sorry. I forget that some people are-"

"Normal?" Deandra supplies, grinning as Stiles stands, stretching out his legs.

"Is it weird being normal in a family off werewolves?" He asks, following Deandra out of the library. He can feel everyone congregating in one area as they descend the stairs.

"Nah. Some times I tune them out when they get to talking about smells and hearing things they shouldn't. But, I'm pretty used to it all. I even married one." When they make it to the end of the last flight of stairs, she leads him into the dinig room, pointing to the slight woman Stiles had stood next to earlier that morning. It's just as hectic as it had been last Saturday, with just as much food on the table. The woman smiles at them before returning her attention back to a small child sitting in a booster seat. Deandra pats Stiles on the back, "I'm gonna go sit. Be sure you sit next to Laura or she may just get offended."

"Hey!" The woman in question shouts from down the table, standing to point an angry finger at Deandra who just laughs and moves to the other side of the table.

Stiles walks down the row to the empty seat next to Laura. "Don't worry," he smiles at her. "I would have sat here anyway; you're one of the few I know by name."

Next to them, Isaac snorts. Laura shoves Stiles' shoulders until he sits, quietly laughing at the annoyed look on her face. He looks to find Scott sitting down by Ned again, wearing a shirt that's a bit too large for him. He's laughing at something Ned is saying. Everyone's wolves feel him out gently, none sticking around for too long, except one. It hangs just next to him, not doing anything, just making him uncomfortable. Stiles thinks he recognizes it. His suspicions are confirmed when he looks to find Peter grinning madly at him.

Everyone quiets when Talia and Derek enter the room. Derek's face has that same pained expression as before, and he doesn't look at Stiles as he sits down. Stiles can't feel his wolf. As soon as Talia's butt touches her chair, the table erupts in movement. It seems there's not any lecture to be given tonight. Laura piles Stiles' plate high again, only stopping when he holds his hands in her way.

"It won't stop until you're actually inducted into the pack," Isaac whispers from inches away from Stiles' face.

"So, this will go on forever," Stiles smiles, pulling away slightly.

Isaac sits back, shrugging, "Until you're an official pack member."

"Can I _be_ an official pack member?" Stiles questions, picking at his corn.

"Of course," Isaac scoffs.

Stiles nods, thinking it over. He could be an actual packmate, be part of the great Hale pack. Come to think of it, he knew nothing of other werewolf packs. Were the Hales great? The family seemed large by human standards, but what about werewolf standards? He was already a part of his coven, which was kind of like a witch family. But, they only met up for celebrations or when one member needed significant help. It seemed that the Hales spent every moment together. Would he enjoy that? _...an automatic family_ Talia had said. Would that mean leaving his father behind?  He looks up to see Talia smiling at him like she knew just what he was thinking, or maybe she heard.

He turns back to his food, eating a few bites of red potatoes before something hits him. Turning to Isaac, he says quietly, "Hey, I'm sorry about earlier."

Isaac stops eating, nodding down at his plate. "Don't worry about it, man."

"Really, though," Stiles persists.

Finally, Isaac looks up at him, lip quirking up into a small half-smile. "It's okay. Maybe I'll tell you one day."

"Yeah," Stiles smiles back. Suddenly, he feels Derek's wolf. He's not sure how he recognizes it so well, surrounded by all these other wolves, but he knows it's Derek's. It doesn't feel the same as it has before. It feels harsh, almost angry, nipping at Stiles and growling. He looks to see Derek staring at him with wide eyes. His mouth is open with surprise. Quickly, Derek rises and leaves the room, pulling his wolf away with him.

"What just happened?" Isaac asks, as Stiles rushes to follow Derek out.

He finds him outside on the deck, walking hastily toward the woods. Stiles calls out, running to catch up. Derek turns, yelling, "Leave me alone!"

"Dude, what the shit?" Stiles yells back, finally making it to Derek.

"Just stay away from me." Derek's barely breathing hard while Stiles is seriously having troubles.

"Not until you tell me what is going on!" Stiles replies. Derek groans as his wolf makes another appearance next to Stiles. "Why do you keep making your wolf do that?"

"I'm not making it do anything!" Derek shoots back, looking pained as his wolf is pulled from Stiles again.

"Then make it stop because it's freaking me out!" Stiles throws his arms out for emphasis.

"I can't!" Derek roars, face red. He lets out an angry sound and his wolf hits Stiles so hard he has to take a step back.

"What do you mean you can't?" Stiles demands.

"I mean I can barely control my wolf at all! And, it takes everything I have to pull the stupid thing back to me!" Derek's breath is ragged now.

Confused, Stiles says, "You can't control it like Peter can?"

"No," Derek bites out. "And I would appreciate it if you stay the hell away from me, _witch_."

The way Derek says it hits Stiles hard. He's never been ashamed of what he was, never encountered someone who made the word sound so evil. But, the disgust on Derek's face makes him feel sinful, villainous even. Without another word, Derek turns and stomps off toward the forest.

Stiles stands there, staring at the spot Derek left empty for a long time before Talia's voice comes from behind him, "I think we should have a talk." 

Silently, Stiles turns and followers her out to the gazebo next to the pond. There are small lights fixed to the polls holding up the gazebo's roof and small round lights floating in the water, illuminating the area just enough for Stiles to make out Talia's features. They sit for a moment before Talia starts to speak again. "When Derek was sixteen, he fell in love with a young witch named Kate. Kate was older and from a family of werewolf hunters that we were not on particularly good terms with, but we accepted her into our home anyway. One night, when Kate was over very late and without mine or Ned's permission, she attempted to burn us all alive."

Stiles swings around from where he was staring out at the pond to gasp at Talia. "What?"

She gives him a gentle smile, "She didn't succeed. During your mother's time with us, the same group of hunters tried very much the same thing, and to prevent it from happening again, she enchanted our home. The first time we lost my mother and father, the second time we lost no one."

"That's..." Stiles starts, not really knowing how to finish, "still awful."

"Hm. Yes, but it does shine a light on Derek's hostility, though." The look she gives Stiles reminds him how conniving mothers can be.

"I'm not like that other witch," Stiles says, defensive.

Talia chuckles, "I know, but Derek's not one to trust easy anymore."

"Not that I don't totally get that, and I do, but it still doesn't explain his wolf."

Talia looks off into the woods. "That's another matter entirely. We're not sure what to make of it."

"Still not cool to treat me like I'm going to turn on everyone at the first chance I get," Stiles murmurs.

"Give him some time," Talia voices softly. "Give them all some time."

A loud call comes from the direction of the house. 

"That was Scott. I think we wore him out today. He may be ready to go home," Talia says, her smile lit up by the glow of the lights. 

"I better get him home then," Stiles sighs, standing on heavy legs. 

"Tell Ned I'm going to wait for Derek here," Talia tells him. 

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Stiles asks, turning back at the foot of the gazebo to catch her nod. He walks a few steps before stopping to turn around again. "The hunters, what was their name?"

"Argent." 

+

Stiles doesn't know what to do. Stiles has absolutely zero notion of how to handle this situation. Part of him is still shocked, driving through the preserve, relying on pure brain mapping to show him the way while Scott babbles about how far he can run now without getting winded. The other part is seething. The Argents were hunters, werewolf hunters, and Stiles can only assume that they knew about his craft, about him.  Stiles had met Chris and Victoria Argent, had gotten the same feeling from them Scott had. Their spirits were rough, closed off, and Stiles swears he saw Victoria smile wider when he was checking her's out. Like she knew what he was doing. At the time, he chalked it up to being paranoid, but now he's certain she did. 

His mother had said they were dangerous, had made them out to be treacherous, but he's known Allison for years. Scott has dated her for years. She has been in their lives since high school, and Stiles has felt nothing but love from her and her spirit. But now, there's only one question running through his mind: was she one of them?

His mind supplies the answer: when they were in high school, Allison qualified for the Olympic archery team. She could hit a moving target from oh-my-god away and then back flip into the nearest bush for cover. She was incredibly strong, had once picked a drunk Stiles up by his shoulders and slammed him into a wall, and knowledgeable about the occult, which Stiles had assumed was just a hobby. 

He remembers her mentioning an Aunt Kate, too. And, by mentioning he means he remembers Allison saying that her Aunt Kate was insane and locked away somewhere. 

He looks at his friend who is grinning and gesturing wildly, recounting how one of the Hales popped out his claws and use them to climb a tree. The Argents are hunters, and Scott is dating their daughter. How are they going to react to that? A worse question hits him:  how is he going to tell Scott? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome for that there cliffhanger. As before, no idea when the next one will be out. I have a two year old, ya'll. Idk when anything is going to happen ever. And, I really love the Hales. Like, major. And and, don't fret Derek's not always gonna be this way, and when he opens up wowee. It's gon be great. 
> 
> PS- If you follow me on tumblr, you get updates and maybe even snippets, but you gotta tell me that you read this otherwise you get nuthin. Them's the rules. [COME TALK TO ME! ](http://scootiepuffjr.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should make a disclaimer that everything I know about lore and Druids comes from googling shit. So, there's that. Also, I use google translator. 
> 
> I think I also need to warn ya'll that there's some mention of some really awful things happening to infertile and/or non-straight members of a werewolf pack way back when. It's nothing graphic, but be safe guys.

 

 

Stiles calls her. She picks up sounding out of breathe, _"Stilinski."_  

 

"Did you know?" 

 

_"Did I know?"_

 

"Did you know?"

 

She sighs. _"Stiles, it's eleven here and I'm just now reaching my floor after ascending thirteen flights of stairs, so if you could please tell me what it is I'm supposed to know, I won't hang up on you."_

 

"Allison."

 

Lydia is quiet, but Stiles can hear keys jingling and the light squeak of a door opening. Finally, she says, _"She's my best friend."_

 

"And, she's not one of mine?" Stiles yells into the phone, anger overtaking him. 

 

  
_"Stiles, please-"_ she tries, but he cuts her off. 

 

"How much does she know?" he demands. He can hear shuffling in the background, the sound of beeping. "Lydia!"

 

  
_"She knows what you are,"_ she provides, adding, _"as well as what I am."_ Stiles has to pull the phone away from his face and take a few deep breaths. Lydia's voice comes through the speaker loud enough for him to make out. _"She helped me, Stiles."_

 

Stiles brings the phone back to his face so quickly he almost hits himself with it. "So, what? Did you just sit around and have nice little discussions about what to expect from the changes happening to you, or did she just ask to see your powers over and over again like Scott did me?"

 

  
_"No, I got to be picked over by her mother and creepy ass grandfather whom I caught talking over the phone about a possible new threat once,"_ Lydia fires back. Stiles can't speak, anger overflowing his brain. _"So what if they knew? You've got an entire coven to protect you."_

 

"We invited you in!"

 

_"Yeah, to be closely monitored and kept in Beacon fucking Hills for the rest of my life."_ A loud beep punctuates her sentence. 

 

"With protection and help and support!" Stiles reminds her, shoving at his computer's keyboard in annoyance. 

 

_"It wasn't for me, Stiles,"_ she says softly. 

 

She's right, he knows it, but it still stings thinking about how close they had gotten when she declined his Coven's invitation. He shouldn't have taken it so personally, but it still hurt. He supposes they could still be close if they put in a little effort, even if it is hard. His anger shifts a little, into something more sad, and he asks, "How are you, banshee?"

 

_"Just fine, spark."_ Her voice is muffled slightly, like she's eating. _"Chicago's nice. You should visit."_

 

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be leaving California any time soon."

 

_"So, what happened?"_ Lydia asks. _"What shined the light on Allison?"_

 

Stiles hesitates for a beat, before shaking himself and answering, "Scott got bit."

 

_"Like, on purpose?"_

 

"No. It was some sort of freak witchcraft, I'm still trying to sort it out. Which, hey, do you happen to read Russian?" 

 

_"Nope. Latin, Ancient Latin, German, and Italian are all I've got."_ She pauses, _"Allison speaks French, though."_

 

Stiles sighs, "So, I guess I need to call Scott, or something."

 

_"What are you going to tell him?"_ Lydia asks.

 

"No idea," Stiles admits. "Just, don't tell Allison anything, okay? I'll figure something out."

 

Lydia snorts, _"I'm calling her right this second, Stilinski."_

 

Stiles laughs at that. "I'll talk to you later."

 

_"You sure will."_

 

+

 

Stiles wakes up the next morning to a gentle hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes to find his father's weary face staring down at him.

 

"Coffee?" asks the sheriff.

 

Stiles pulls himself out of bed slowly, allowing his father to help him. His body feels stiff, heavy with decisions and possibilities that still haven't left his mind. He lets his dad lead him into the kitchen, mind blank and hazy as he plops into a chair.

 

"I thought you had the night shift?" Stiles questions when a mug is put in front of him, followed by a tub of sugar and a gallon of milk.

 

The sheriff shrugs as he sits. His uniform is rumpled, hair pushed up slightly on one side. He says, "I got a call from Lydia about three hours ago."

 

The coffee burns Stiles' tongue, and he coughs on it. "Lydia?"

 

His dad's eyes look tired, deep wrinkles shadowed by dark marks. "Some one was mauled. Looks like an animal attack. Lydia told me to tell you as soon as I could."

 

A weight settles in Stiles' chest. "An animal attack?"

 

"Deep gauges all over the body. Bite marks, too." He look turns dark. "Deaton's coming in to take a look."

 

Stiles feels cold all over. Deaton gets called in for every case that involves animals, but the way his dad emphasized the sentence gives Stiles the impression that his mentor is being called in for some other reason. Stiles scrambles up from the table, tripping over the leg of his chair and catching himself before he falls. He's almost to the stairs when the front door slams open to reveal just who he was rushing to call.

 

Scott looks ragged in a wife beater and old work out shorts, hair sticking up everywhere and breath edging on asthma attack levels. He slams the door closed behind him.

 

"Scott!" Stiles rushes forward taking his friend's shoulders in his hands and searching him over. Stiles finds

no blood, only terrified eyes and red cheeks. Quickly, Stiles places one of Scott's hands on his own chest, directly over his heart. "You gotta calm down. Breathe with me, man. In and out, come on."

 

Scott's wolf shoots forward from nowhere, slamming against Stiles and whining in a completely different way than Derek's did. It sounds scared, _feels_ scared. Stiles calms himself, pushing the calm out to Scott in waves. Scott's breathing slows down, but his eyes retain their crazed light. His empty hand come ups to grab the forearm closest to him, and his wolf retreats.

 

"I think I did something bad."

 

+

 

"I was just watching, as this poor girl was ripped to shreds. I could smell her blood and flesh. I could smell her fear. And, the sounds; I don't think I'll ever forget those sounds. When it was done, it looked up at me and I swear it grinned." Scott looks exhausted, skin blotchy and pale. He's shaking as he speaks, voice reticent and rushed when he recounts his dream, or what Stiles hopes was just a dream even if all the evidence points to the contrary.

 

"But, it wasn't you doing the killing?" the Sheriff asks, much gentler than he would have asked anyone else.

 

Stiles is relieved when Scott shakes his head. Stiles had hoped Scott's worst dream hadn't come true, but he couldn't help to think it could have happened. Hearing that Scott hadn't been the one to do the killing was the best thing to hear. "Okay," he says, scooting his chair up to the table. "So, it just wanted you to watch it kill someone? Why?"

 

"I don't know." Scott swallows, grabs for Stiles' forgotten coffee mug. "It was weird at first. It smelled strange, and the girl was tied down. It looked like the thing was drawing on her before it bit her, but whatever it was trying to do must not have worked."

 

"Describe this creature again," Stiles' father requests. He looks even more worn out than when they first came downstairs.

 

"It was huge, furry. It smelled strange, kind of like when Mr. Hale showed me his full form or whatever yesterday."

 

"It's a werewolf, then?" The sheriff scribbles something down on the small pad he'd retrieved from his pocket when Stiles had lead Scott into the kitchen.

 

"I guess, but it was enormous. I'm talking as big as a car." Scott emphasizes his point by stretching his arms out as far as they'll go.

 

The sheriff sighs. "Son, do you-" He curses when Stiles shakes his head.

 

"It sounds like it was performing a ritual. And, from what Talia has told us about what your Alpha can put into your head, it's very possible that it was trying to turn someone else," Stiles supplies.

 

"And, wanted me to watch." Scott drops his head onto the table with a thunk. He's always been the more sensitive one. The one who couldn't watch the Saw movies because he felt too close to the characters, instead of the hatred of blood that stopped Stiles from watching them. The fact that he had to sit and watch while a girl was devoured alive hurts Stiles' soul. Of all the people in Beacon Hills, in the world, for some power hungry werewolf to turn, it had to be Scott.

 

Gently, Stiles kicks at Scott's calf until his friend looks up, "You remember what it smelled like?" At Scott's nod, Stiles smiles. "Then we'll find him."

 

"That's all well and good, but _I_ have to do something immediately," comes from the sheriff.

 

"Is Deaton looking over the body now?" Stiles questions. His dad glances at his wristwatch before nodding. "Good, so we'll call Talia while he's doing his thing and see what she says."

  

+

 

Talia, as it were, decides it would be best if she met with the sheriff in his home to begin with. Something about maintaining a level of comfort between the Hales and the locals. If they were seen paraded into the sheriff's office, willingly or no, people would get the wrong impression. Stiles is sent out to Leslie's to retrieve some breakfast and returns to find the Hales have beat him back. Talia sits at his kitchen table, a mug of coffee in her hand and a small smile on her face as she talks quietly to Scott, who looks to have calmed down some more. The sheriff remains in his seat, writing in his notebook and eyeing the man standing next to the fridge with suspicion. His wolf jumps to Stiles immediately, and Stiles is met with a sour look when he catches Derek's eye. The wolf is pulled away.

 

"Breakfast," he sings, ignoring the unpleasant were altogether.

 

Talia turns her smile up to him as he sets the box of pastries down on the table. Scott snatches one from the box before the bottom actually touches the tabletop.

 

"Why, thank you, Stiles." Talia looks perfectly put together for seven in the morning. Derek, when Stiles chances another glance at him, looks like he was pulled from sleep with messy hair and tired eyes.

  
_Wow, even looking half dead he is stupid attractive_ , his mind says before he can silence it. Whatever, it's the truth anyway, so Stiles doesn't dote on it, instead he takes a seat in between Scott and his dad and grabs a pastry for himself. He can feel Derek glaring at his back.

 

"So, you said he was huge?" Talia questions, reaching out to take a pecan pastry.

 

"Giant." Scott's voice sounds as tired as he looks, with a slight emptiness detectable in the word. A small yawn breaks his next sentence in two, "Bigger than Mr. Hale."

 

Talia hums, taking a few bites of her breakfast followed by a sip of coffee. She seems to be thinking, her fingers tapping on her mug and her brow furrowed. Scott's next yawn is the only sound accompanying that _clack_ of Talia's fingernails. Stiles tears his strawberry cream pastry in half and shoves one piece into his mouth. He feels Scott's wolf peak out slowly, it pushes against him looking for comfort. Stiles obliges making his spirit as calm and happy as he can and is rewarded with a nuzzle before the wolf disappears again.

  
Behind him, Derek makes a small noise. When Stiles turns, Derek has one arm crossed over his chest with the other held up to cover his face with his hand. His body is ridged, fingers digging into his side and his face. Stiles starts to question him when Talia speaks up drawing his attention back to the table.

  
"It seems this may be playing out as I originally feared. Stiles, I'm afraid you're going to have to work faster."

  
"Yeah, no problem." Stiles agrees. "I can work all day and we can head back to class in the morning. Your class isn't until noon, right?"

  
"Right," Scott answers, slowly lowering his head onto the table.

  
"Good, I'll work and Scott can sleep and we'll leave early tomorrow."

  
"Is your mother working today, Scott?" Talia questions.

  
"Yes," Scott says to the table.

  
"I think it would be best if you weren't alone today." She says it with an air of authority that leaves zero room for any argument, not that she got any. Scott nods his agreement, forehead still smooshed against the table. Talia turns to the sheriff. "I'm afraid there is nothing we can tell you other than we're working on it at the moment, John."

  
Stiles' dad sighs and puts his pad and pen away, grabbing a pastry from the box and taking a giant bite out of it. His movements are slow, speaking to how tired he is. He swallows before speaking. "I suppose that I suspected as much."

  
Talia's smile is apologetic. "Alright, we'll head back to the house and let Scott get some sleep."

  
The sheriff nods his thanks, standing with the rest of them and clapping Stiles on the back when they exit the kitchen. They hang back a bit while the others move out of the house, Stiles giving his dad what he hopes is a confident smile and gently pushing him toward the stairs. He finds the two Hales and Scott in the driveway, standing in front of a small sedan and a Camaro Stiles recognizes from the Hale house. The air is crisp and cool, wind picking up slightly.

  
"I'll take Scott with me. You and Derek should ride together and talk over anything you've found," Talia tells him.

  
Stiles' agreement gets lost in the wind as Talia tugs Scott to the sedan and Derek walks quickly to the Camaro. Stiles rushes to follow him, getting in the passenger side just as Derek's starting the car. They take off soon after that, leaving Scott and Talia behind almost immediately.

  
"So," Stiles begins. "Do you wanna know what I've found?"

  
Derek rolls his eyes, jaw set in annoyance, "I kind of need to if I'm going to be helping you."

 

"Helping me?" It comes out much more surprised than Stiles means it to, and Derek grinds his teeth a little. "Sorry, uh, why are you going to be helping me?"

 

"Well, I don't know. I was the person in possession of the Bestiary and the only one to use the Hale library before you came along," Derek snaps, eyes not moving from the road.

 

"Oh, I thought you were, like, a carpenter or something?" This time Derek's eyes do move from the road to glare at him for just a second before reverting back.

 

"I _run_ Hale Construction, and like to read." The words shoot from Derek's mouth like venom effectively making Stiles feel like an awful person.

 

"Yeah, I deserved that. Sorry. I just assumed because of your always angry demeanor that you didn't enjoy things." Stiles watches Derek's face dissolve into something close to fury, which was not what he meant to do. Derek's hands tighten around the steering wheel and Stiles thinks he may hear it creak.

 

Without warning, Derek's wolf slams into Stiles. It hits him so hard that Stiles is physically pushed into the door. Derek slams on his brakes, veering to the side of the road with a quick jerk. His wolf is going crazy, whining and burrowing into Stiles, keeping him pined against the door. Derek slams the car into park and is out the door before Stiles can really register that they had fully stopped. Quick as it appeared, the wolf is ripped away, leaving Stiles breathless. He fumbles for the door handle, nearly falling out of the car when he finally manages it. The air fills his lungs and the wind slaps him out of whatever was just happening. He looks to find Derek on the other side of the car, head down on the trunk and covered by his hands.

 

"Why do you keep doing that?" Stiles yells at him.

 

Derek growls, yanking his head up to glare at Stiles. The man looks awful, face white and eyebrows drawn, exertion evident. "I told you, I can't fucking help it!"

 

Stiles sighs loudly, maybe a little childishly. "No, you idiot. Why do you freak out every time? We both know it's going to happen and straining yourself is only going to give you a hernia!"

 

Derek stares at him with confused brows, mouth open slightly. "So, what? Just let it maul you?"

 

"I wouldn't call it mauling. It's more like," Stiles searches for the word and almost immediately regrets his choice, "loving?"

 

Derek's face turns from confusion to shock and then settles on slight disgust. 

 

"Not like what you're probably thinking," Stiles rushes to amend. "Nothing gross or anything. It's just that it doesn't bother me, so you don't need to be so adamant about keeping it away. Until we figure out why it's happening, at least." 

 

Derek doesn't look convinced, face still strained. "I don't like it being away from me."

 

Annoyed, with his hands on his hips and stance perfectly straight, Stiles says, "Do you know how often people's spirits travel without their knowledge? Most beings can't even tell when their spirit isn't with them. Your wolf probably does a lot of things you don't realize."

 

"Not mine," Derek rumbles, and the stillness in his eyes coupled with the finite twinge to his words assures Stiles that's he's telling the truth.

 

For a second, Stiles is confused. Spirits resemble a copy of yourself, just on another plane. They roam as they will; it takes years to learn to feel them, much longer to control one. Sometimes, even Stiles forgets he has one, only to reel it back in from somewhere far off. It's strange to think that Derek knows where his is at all times, that he keeps it close to him. It would take a lot of constant concentration, nonstop tugging. Stiles can't see the point in it, can't figure out what perk Derek could be getting from keeping a steady hand on his wolf. Unless...

 

"Does this have something to do with that other spark?" Derek's head snaps around from where his eyes had followed a car down the street. The astonished, slightly crazed look he gives Stiles is answer enough. "Right, look, I'm not going to, like, get in between you and your wolf, or whatever it is you think I'm going to do. You do whatever you want, keep your wolf close to you at all times, I don't care. I just think it would be a lot easier for you to help me figure out what is going on if half of your brain is not focused completely on your wolf."

 

Derek's eyes sear into Stiles' as he speaks. He catches the were glancing at his chest quickly before returning his eyes back to Stiles'. They seem to search Stiles' face for a moment, settling on each of his features in turn. Derek says, "You're not lying."

 

Bewildered, Stiles replies, "Of course not? How can you- what just happened?"

 

"Your heartbeat," Derek supplies. "People's heartbeats stutter when they lie."

 

"You can hear that?" Stiles stands awestruck for a moment before he surges into action. He yanks his phone from his back pocket, opening his note app and typing in the new information. "Is it only when they're lying? Or do other things affect it as well? How far can you hear it? Does everyone's sound the same? Could you hear, like, a murmur? What about people with those regulators?" Derek's huff draws Stiles eyes back up to the not at all amused were. "What? You can't just tell me things and then not explain every detail."

 

Derek's face contorts for a moment before settling into something less harsh. Stiles stares in confusion as Derek nods and drops his shoulders some, taking in a deep breath. He lets it out slowly and in that moment, Stiles feels the man's wolf again. It slips up to him slowly for the first time since they met, and Stiles thinks it feels happier. When he looks up at Derek, the were looks softer somehow, definitely less like he's constipated.

 

"Let's go," Derek says, gruff as ever, but it's progress.

 

+

 

Talia's car is parked in front of the Hale house when Stiles and Derek pull up, along with many more. The surrounding area is silent around Stiles as he steps out of the Camaro, a stark contrast to how loud it was the day before. Derek's wolf hasn't left Stiles' side since the were let it free. The constant weight against him causes him to shift in his seat often. He caught Derek glancing over at him frequently, face hard and contorted in a way Stiles couldn't interpret. He didn't pull the wolf back.

 

The feeling of wolf, more familiar now, doesn't push into him until he crosses the threshold of the house, and even then it feels subdued. He's met with quiet chatter and the smell of bacon. He shoots a quick grin at Derek behind him before venturing farther into the house. He enters the kitchen to find Deandra at the stove, hovering over a pan while Tayla mixes something in a bowl next to her. The young were's motions are animated, arm working vigorously as she pushes up on tiptoes on top of a small stool. Stiles recognizes some of the other people chatting around a table off to the side of the kitchen, but can't remember if he ever actually learned their names. Light shines in from the many windows that frame the breakfast nook, illuminating their faces, some of which do not look too happy to be awake. 

 

"Stiles! Derek!" Deandra greets, a smile warming her face. 

 

Immediately, Tayla whirls around, forgetting about whatever she had been mixing as her stool wobbles. She flies off of it just as it clatters sideways and makes it to Stiles before he can blink. "Stiles!"

 

"Hey," Stiles chuckles, bending to return the hug being thrown around his knees properly. He feels Derek's wolf leave him, circling around Tayla, and then returning. When he looks up, Derek shoots both Stiles and Tayla a confusing look before moving toward the table. 

 

"You have to help me mix the pancakes," Tayla tells him, a tone of finality edging into the little girl's voice. 

 

"Well, duh." His grin is returned and he's released, only to have his hand grabbed and used to pull him to her stool. Tayla rights it before clambering up, forcing Stiles to stand up straight, too.

 

Deandra's smile remains, maybe even grows a little, when he looks at her. He opens his mouth to return her greeting from earlier, but is interrupted by Tayla shoving her bowl and whisk at him.

 

"Auntie De says you gotta mix it good," Tayla tells him, all serious brows and clipped tone.

 

"Really?" Stiles asks, glancing at the table of people behind him. The only one's eyes on him belong to a young girl who looks completely disinterested and annoyed at the room at large. Everyone else, including Derek, is preoccupied with talking, so Stiles turns back to Tayla and grins down at her. Quickly, he places his hand over the bowl and concentrates, breathing in and out, willing the whisk to move. The whisk is suddenly pushed around the bowl twice before Stiles pulls his hand away, ceasing its movements.

 

"Again!" Tayla squeals, but it's the yip and the whine Derek's wolf lets out that captures Stiles' attention.

 

He turns to find the entire table staring at him, faces a mixture of wonder and anxiety. Derek's is the only face that differs, anger reigning instead. He opens his mouth to apologize or laugh it off or something, but Talia's voice cuts through the silence.

 

"Scott's in the left guest room, so be sure to keep quiet during your training." Talia's words are slightly harsh, but when Stiles looks at her, she's smiling. She moves from her spot in the archway over to him, patting Deandra on the shoulder on the way. She bends and picks Tayla up, kissing the giggling child on the cheek. She speaks without turning her face toward Stiles, and a light tone Stiles is sure is for Tayla's benefit, "We're not used to such energies in our home, so be careful."

 

Stiles catches Deandra's eye when he nods. She uses her hand to cover her laughter, tongs dripping bacon grease back into the pan. The grease sizzles in the heat. "Yeah, sure. Sorry. Just a small parlor trick."

 

Talia places Tayla back on her perch, giving Stiles a gentle smirk when she straightens up. "Just be mindful. I think it would be good idea for you and Derek to get started early."

 

"Right," Stiles agrees, turning to Derek who still looks slightly indignant. The man rises however, ignoring everyone and walking out of the room, his wolf trailing after him. 

 

Deandra's joyful, "Who wants bacon?" breaks everyone else out of their collective stupefied state and the room is filled with movement and sound again. 

 

Stiles gives Talia a small smile before booking it from the room. 

 

+

 

Derek's already set up when Stiles gets there. He's seated at one of the desks, laptop in front of him and an open notebook off to the side. He doesn't move or acknowledge Stiles when the witch enters, which suits Stiles just fine. His wolf, however, nuzzles up to him, and Stiles tries not to jump at the sudden intrusion. 

 

He ignores Derek, walking to his own mess of information that was left on a desk the night before. He lingers over it, staring at the loose papers and open books. The words jumble together, creating a mess of confusion that requires him shaking his head and closing his eyes to right. Derek makes a noise and Stiles finds him glaring at the computer. 

 

"Did you find something?" Stiles moves closer to the were, intrigued and hopeful.

 

"No," Derek snaps, glaring harder.

 

Stiles jerks back slightly, annoyed but mostly unsurprised by the hostility. They could only make so many strides in one morning, right? He turns back to his desk and throws himself into his search for something, anything, that can help him figure out what the hell is going on with Scott. He rereads some of his notes from the day before, tries to figure out what direction he had been going it, but it seems he was just pulling books from the shelf at random. He has a book written in Russian, one in High German, and three in Spanish flung open to the same page. He can understand some of the High German, but not enough to do any good. He sighs and turns back to the bookshelf, scanning the expanse of knowledge stored there with a sense of disaster. Calamity, thy name is the Hale library.

 

Stiles starts in again, grabbing the books written in English this time. Maybe he can find something in his own language that meshes with their predicament. An hour later, he rumbles with frustration. Derek's wolf sniffs at the sound, resuming it's curled up position around him afterward. Stiles looks to find Derek sitting under the large window, legs curled up on the window seat, holding up a book. The light washes over his form, shadowing the side turned toward Stiles, dipping into the edges that riddle the man's face and neck. His brow is drawn and his lips parted in concentration, eyes moving quickly over the words. Stiles must be staring too hard, because Derek looks up, blinking out of his reading fog and catching Stiles' eye.

 

Stiles flounders a bit, starts to go back to his book but Derek's voice stops him. "I may have found something."

 

Stiles jumps from his chair which was maybe a little too enthusiastic because Derek shifts back some when Stiles makes it to the were's side. Stiles does not care as long as Derek's found more than he has. "Whatchu got?"

 

Derek eyes him strangely, one eyebrow raised and doesn't speak until Stiles starts feeling very uncomfortable. "I'm not sure, but this books translates to something that I think are a list of spells."

 

Stiles' attention automatically snaps to the book in Derek's hands. It's large and old, the pages yellowing some. It is also written in Spanish.

 

"Dude, you read Spanish?" Stiles' voice might just be full of more astonishment than he meant to let slip out, but Derek doesn't seem surprised.

 

"Yeah. Speak it, too. Eres un idiota agitando," Derek smirks.

 

Stiles narrows his eyes. "Okay, I have no idea what you just said, but I got _idiota_ so fuck you, alright?"

 

Stiles catches Derek's mouth quirking into a small smile just as the man looks down. He counts it as a mark in his favor for the game they are apparently playing. Stiles is pretending they're playing a game, anyway.

 

"Very perceptive, Stiles," Derek says, pointing at a passage in the book. "This reads like a spell I think, but it's confusing."

 

Stiles tilts his head to stare at the words from Derek's point of view. "Confusing how?"

 

"It says, 'La Santa Muerte, tráeme a su riqueza derecha pronto. Llenar mis manos con la plata y el oro. Todo lo que das, el bolso puede contener.' But, that doesn't make any sense." The Spanish glides from Derek's mouth like it's his mother tongue. Stiles is captivated by the way the were's lips move over the words, feeling them out, caressing them. And, maybe he needs to stop staring at attractive people while they're speaking a foreign language.

 

He clears his throat when Derek looks up at him. "Doesn't make sense?"

 

"Yeah, it's to La Santa Muerte, the Goddess of Death, but it's about money." Sweet Jesus, Stiles needs to stop looking at this asshole's mouth.

 

Instead, he wracks his brain, pulling out any information he has on Spanish Gods and Goddesses, which is not helpful. "Um, I don't know much about Spanish mythology, but in most all mythology Gods have more than one role. With Druids, we would pray to the Lovely Lady of the Moon, specifically Danu because she's the Goddess of prosperity and plenty. But, she is the Goddess of many other things, and there are other moon deities we could seek assistance from, as well. Maybe it's the same for Spanish deities?" Derek's eyes stay locked on Stiles' face as he speaks, moving from his eyes to his mouth. Stiles backs up slightly, motioning for Derek to hand him the book. "Are there any other spells in here? Any that may pertain to-" He cuts off as soon as the book touches his fingertips.

 

Energy surges from the book, moving up his arm and through the rest of his body, mingling with his spirit and making his entire being tingle. He drops it with a shout as Derek leaps into action, pushing Stiles away from the book with a hand to Stiles' chest, his wolf snarling. But, Stiles knows what that is, knows that sensation inside and out. He scrambles back to it, shoving Derek out of the way, and letting out a sound of joy when he gets it back in his hands again.

 

"Do you know what this is?" It comes out shrill and electrified. Stiles flips through the pages faster than he can hope to read them, soaking up the energy flowing through the book. He jumps up from where he had knelt on the ground, shoving the book toward Derek who looks alarmed and flinches away from it. "Are there more? Derek, are there more?"

 

Derek backs away further, butt bumping into a sitting chair. His voice comes out in a low growl, "What is that?"

 

Stiles laughs, a loud sound that explodes from his chest. "Can't you feel it?"

 

"It feels old, weird," Derek supplies, voice still harsh and stilted.

 

"It's magic," Stiles breathes.

 

Derek's across the room before Stiles can say anything else, eyes flashing a startling blue and lips spitting a curse. "It didn't feel bad."

 

"Bad? Why would it feel bad?" Stiles closes the book, runs his fingers over the word scrawled across the top in elegant script. "This is a Grimoire. A Spanish Grimoire. Do you know how valuable this is?" When Stiles looks up, Derek's face is closed off. His body is tense, like he's ready to either take off or fight whenever he needs to. "Dude, calm down."

 

"That thing is _magic_!" Derek shouts. The flash of his eyes is accompanied by elongated claws when he jabs a finger toward Stiles.

 

"It's not- It's neutral," Stiles tries to explain, but Derek's already shaking his head and backing out of the room. His wolf is ripped violently from Stiles' side, causing Stiles to gasp and stumble forward. He catches himself on the side of a desk, fingers curling around the edge. Derek's shoulder bumps into another person as he rushes out of the room. The person, a man tall and thin with rich dark skin and a thick jaw, huffs at Derek's back before turning his confused expression to Stiles. His shirt has the telltale signs of sweat and dirt, but he looks perfectly calm as he turns back to the room at large.

 

"I heard a shout when I came in for water," the man, a were by the feel of him, says in explanation.

 

"Yeah, sorry." Stiles rights himself, returning his attention to the magic filled book in his hand. His fingers resume their trail over the word and delicate designs adorning the cover. The cover itself is a muted grey with the

embossing standing out in a deep blue. There is no author or any factors that could lead to one, save for a very small triangle in the top left corner. Supposedly, no Grimoires ever have an author's signature, though Stiles can understand. Putting your name or mark on one could be a death sentence, or instant acceptance to a mental health facility.

 

"Is that a Grimoire?" the were asks.

 

Stiles' head snaps up to meet the were's eyes. He'd moved closer to Stiles, within touching distance of the Grimoire if Stiles stretched out his arms, and the man's face is curious in a gentle way. Stiles' words get jumbled in the rush to get them out, "Ya know what's it?"

 

The were's laugh is pleasant, soft. "Yeah, I come from a different pack. Our Emissary had a few."

 

Stiles knows his mouth is hanging open and his eyes are probably wide in equal parts awe and surprise, but he can't find a shit to give. "Okay, one day, you and I are going to sit down and have a long discussion about pack dynamics. Actually, we'll probably have many, but right now I need to know if there are other Grimoires in this library."

 

The were scrunches his face a little in thought, glancing around the room. "I'm not sure. I think my wolf could probably seek them out, but I'm not very good at controlling it. Well, that's not the right phrase; absolutely terrible is a better one."

 

Stiles nods, voice coming out a little wistful sounding when he says, "So many discussions, but I really have to find any others in here. Is Talia downstairs?"

 

"She's running with the pack. Come on, I'll take you to her." He motions for Stiles to follow him. "I'm Brad, by the way. I'm married to Ned's sister."

 

"Right. Stiles-"

 

"Friendly neighborhood witch," Brad finishes with a small smile as they descend the first set of stairs.

 

Stiles sighs. "That's never going to be let go, is it?"

 

"Nope." Brad's grin is wide, showing a few crooked teeth. If it weren't so gentle, it would look predatory.

 

"Great. But, you said in your other pack, your Emissary had some Grimoires? Did they just keep them out all the time?" Stiles can't help but ask when they start on the second set of stairs.

 

Brad shrugs. "Yeah, he had two, I think." The look Brad sends Stiles' way when they enter the hallway leading back toward the kitchen is somewhat sad. "My pack, they weren't..."

 

"Scared?" Stiles suggests, voice almost too quiet to hear.

 

He catches Brad's quick nod as they exit the house through the back door. They don't move off the deck, don't need to when they see that the pack has settled into the grass a few yards from the house. They're all sprawled out, some on top of others, most of them dirty. Talia's in the middle, twirling the hair of the girl Stiles saw in the kitchen earlier that morning who has her head pillowed on Talia's stomach. There's a sense of calm that hovers over the yard. Stiles hates to have to disrupt it.

 

"Alpha," Brad says, no louder than he would if he'd have been speaking to Stiles.

 

Talia sits up quickly but gently, allowing the girl time to sit up as well. She eyes Brad for a moment before standing, moving carefully over the other weres and humans. Some sit up in curiosity, some don't seem to care. A quick glance at the group reveals that Derek isn't amoung them. Talia's smile is tight and reserved when she makes it up the porch steps.

 

"He's found something." Brad motions to Stiles.

 

Talia's eyes widen and her smile becomes more excited than concerned. "Let's talk about this inside." She ushers them into the house and up the stairs until they're standing in the library again. She takes a seat in one of the armchairs. Crossing her legs, she says, "Did you find something helpful?"

 

"Possibly," Stiles answers, holding the Grimoire out for Talia to take.

 

She looks it over quickly. "Ned brought this back after visiting another pack. It feels magical."

 

"It's not just magical. It's a book of spells, a list. It's very valuable," Stiles explains. "I've only ever seen three in person."

 

"So, did you find one that could have been used to turn Scott?" She asks.

 

"No, actually, it's in Spanish, so I can't read it. But, I need to know if there are others here." Talia hands him the book back as he speaks.

 

Talia hums. "Well, there could be more. I don't actually know what's all in here."

 

Tentatively, Stiles says, "There's a way I can pick the Grimoires out from the other books."

 

"Okay, so how do you do that?" Talia questions.

 

"I can find them by meditating and feeling for them with my spirit, but I didn't want it to freak anyone out. It can be kind of intrusive feeling for normal humans, and annoying for other Druids. I can't imagine what it would feel like to a were." Stiles feels nervous as he explains. He needs to know how many more there are here. He can't leave without finding them. 

 

"Brad, go tell Ned to take everyone to the lake." Brad nods and moves to do as he was told, his steps unhurried, but Talia stops him before he can make it out of the doorway. "Come back up after you've told him."

 

Brad glances back in surprise, opens his mouth, Stiles assumes to reply, but closes it again before continuing on his way. 

 

"Thank you for coming to me before doing anything." Talia's voice is gentle, and when he looks, Stiles finds that her smile is soft. 

 

"Like I said, I didn't want to freak anyone out. Plus, the thing this morning and Derek running away from the Grimoire..." Stiles trails off with a shrug, hoping it came out as more of a joke, but Talia's face has hardened some. "Um, I really appreciate you letting me look. The coven has it's Grimoires and a few of the higher ups have personal ones, but they're all closely guarded. I've actually never touched one before this."

 

Talia's quiet for a moment, searching Stiles' face. "Will you need to report the ones you find here?"

 

Stiles can't help the grin that slides up his face. "Well, they've been here this long without incident..."

 

Talia laughs, a big hearty sounds that reminds Stiles of Laura and Deandra. She reaches out and pinches his forearm gently. "You're more like your mother than you will ever know." 

 

The comment burns, pulling his breath from his lungs and twisting his stomach, but something else happens. Something deep within him pushes through and he's overwhelmed with pride. She was a solver of problems, tenacious and caring. She was willing to do anything to uncover the truth, and that's exactly how he needs to be right now. 

 

"They're all gone." Brad enters the room as slowly as he left it. 

 

"Good," Talia says, standing. "You had a Emissary? With the McKenna's?" She smiles at Brad's nod. "Then, I'd like you present for this. I haven't dealt directly with magic in a long time, and I'm sure you've been around it on your visits with your family."

 

Brad glances at Stiles and shrugs. "Sure. Not a problem."

 

Talia reaches out and pats Brad's cheek before turning back to Stiles. "Let's get started."

 

Stiles hands the book to Brad, who handles it with care, and turns to the wall of books, rubbing his hands together. He sits, legs crossed and hands on his knees, slowing his breathing. The world feels different when he closes his eyes, softer and muted in a way. He focusses, listens to his own breathing, lets his spirit pull forward. It feels like a deep sigh, like a slow release of tension. He lets his spirit flow out wide, can feel the different spirits of the surrounding woods. Everything feels tranquil, gentle in a way that only nature can feel. He picks out the wolves playing at the lake, mingles with them just a touch before reigning his spirit back in, back to the house.

 

He can feel the residual energy left behind by the wolves. The house vibrates with it, almost like it has a spirit of its own. Immediately after pulling his spirit into the house, he picks out the Grimoires among other small pinpricks of magic. There's five of them in total, four of them close to him, one somewhere down deep in the house. He settles himself, goes after the ones that must be in the library first. He finds them easily enough, nestled among the other books, unassuming. He memorizes their placement as best he can before pushing his spirit down into the basement of the house.

 

It feels grim, distressing and nauseating. Stiles spirit shies away from it, perturbed by the feeling of confusion and anger that permeates down there. He pushes through, finds that the deeper he ventures, the worse the feeling is, until he finds magic. It's faint, as if it hadn't been used knowingly. It feels tainted, contaminated by something thick and pungent, with the Grimoire sitting in the middle of it all.

 

Stiles' eyes snap open as soon as his spirit returns to him. Talia and Brad startle when he jumps up, running to the end of the bookshelf and climbing the ladder. He finds one Grimoire at the very top corner of the shelf, pushes the ladder over to find another in the middle. The last one is on the other wall, all the way on the bottom shelf. He hands each to Brad as he finds them, who sets the gently on one of the desks in the order that they were found. Talia's looking them over as Stiles follows the last Grimoire to the desktop.

 

He stares at them; one is wrapped in a deep red, another bound as if it is a textbook, and the last is devoid of any decoration. They radiate magic, and all four together form a large aura.

 

"Is this all of them?" Talia asks.

 

Stiles doesn't realize he's breathing hard until he goes to answer. "No. Is there a basement?"

 

Talia's head snaps up, and Stiles thinks this must be the first time he's ever saw her look caught off guard. She glances quickly at Brad, who shrugs, before turning resolved eyes back to Stiles. "Yes."

 

"That's where the last one is."

 

+

 

The closer they get to the basement, the more jittery Stiles gets. There's something dark down there and it sets him on edge.

 

Talia stops at a door at the end of the first floor hallway. "The basement..." she starts. Her eyes move to Brad's right behind Stiles, and she must see something there because when she looks back at Stiles, her face is set. "We use it when young weres have trouble controlling the shift during full moons."

 

Realization washes over Stiles, not draining the unpleasant feeling completely, but leaving it much less harsh. He nods and gives a small smile that he hopes is reassuring while reaching for the handle. Talia moves out of the way as the door swings open to reveal steep steps and a flickering light. Stiles steps into the slight darkness warily, wood creaking beneath his feet. He sends Talia and Brad a thumbs up after a few more steps. Brad's laugh and Talia's loving smile move him forward quicker. 

 

The stairwell opens into a large room. Three light bulbs hang from wires across the ceiling, lighting the room enough to navigate. The walls are made of cement blocks, and the floor matches. Attached to the walls are metal chains capped in manacles. Blood mars the floor, long black marks etched next to the spots. Stiles' stomach turns as he looks the place over. Everything feels feral and raw, washes down his spirit. 

  
_Will Scott be put down here?_ he wonders. The full moon is next week, and while Scott hasn't shown man signs of not being in control of his wolf, maybe he'll have to be. Stiles' heart hurts thinking of his friend being locked down in this mean place, struggling and howling.

 

He moves quickly, not wanting to spend anymore time in the basement than he has to, running from the thought of Scott chained up next week. He finds a small hallway behind the stairs and follows it into a small room. Light shines from more light bulbs strung up by their wires, lighting everything just enough to make it creepy. It's filled with boxes and crates, all labeled things like 'Mom's' and 'From Brazil.' He pushes past them, in the direction that his spirit leads him, and finds an opening in the back of the room just large enough to fit a small table. On top of it is the Grimoire.

 

Stiles snatches it off the tabletop and nearly drops it again. The magic is sharp, strong as if it had just been put into words yesterday. And, it is achingly familiar. Stiles' knees drop to the ground and his fingers flip the pages as quickly and gently as he dares. The pages are worn and yellowing at the edges, and when he turns back to the front page he finds a large black block with the word 'Stilinski' written underneath in his mother's handwriting.

 

This is his; he has a Grimoire. He looks through it again, slower this time, and finds loads of spells inscribed in ten different scripts. Half of them are in Polish; he can make out miłość and majątek, as well as a few other words. He stops on one spell in the back of the book.

 

In his mother's handwriting is written, "Prevision."

 

His heart hammers as he reads through the spell. It talks of bright thoughts and awakenings, all knowing and unknowing.

 

"Great Mother, open my inner eye that I may truly see," Stiles recites aloud, shivering as the words shift through the air. Glancing up something catches his eye. He stands and shuffles back to the table. It's bare, with scratches and marks covering the top. Stiles runs his hand along the surface, knocking something soft and small off the edge when he slides his fingers across one corner. He picks it up, rolls the small lump in his hand. He brings it closer to his eyes, squinting in the low light. It looks like club moss; it's too small of an amount to do much with, so it must have been left on accident.

 

Stiles closes his eyes and centers himself, keeps his spirit close as he feels the small space. The magic is stronger now that he's in the middle of where it was cast, but it's no less damaged feeling. It feels similar to how a young druid's first spells feel, stunted and not thought out, but this has an edge to it. There's something twisted and jagged that mingles with it.

 

Stiles swallows when he opens his eyes. There has definitely been magic done down here. It's the magic of a child, but it's recent, and in this house it could only mean disaster.

 

+

 

Talia and Brad are waiting in the library when Stiles makes it back upstairs. Talia smiles at him and makes to speak before Stiles interrupts her, "Did you know she left this here?"

 

Talia's smile drops at Stiles' harsh tone and she blinks first at the Grimoire Stiles has thrust toward her and then at Brad. "Claudia kept a few things here when she was working with us." Talia reaches out a hand and gently traces a finger over the designs on the front of the green leather bound book. When she looks back up at Stiles' face, her voice is as tender as her expression, "She left them, after. Your coven was upset that she had been involved in something as risky as standing between a group of hunters and a pack of werewolves, and she wanted to keep some things safe. I'm sorry, Stiles. I had forgotten."

 

"Forgotten," Stiles spits. His own anger takes him by surprise. He hadn't realized that finding the Grimoire had affected him so much. He supposes finding out new information and uncovering things his mother purposefully hid shouldn't upset him anymore, but it still leaves him aching. "Forgotten her or forgotten her things?"

 

Talia's face falls into a slightly dejected state. "I loved your mother Stiles. We _all_ loved her as if she were pack, but she's been gone from us thirteen years. A lot has happened, and the things she left behind have been shuffled around." Talia's hand moves from the top of book to grasp Stiles' cheek. "We may have gotten caught up in other things, Stiles, but we have never forgotten Claudia or what she has done for us. And, I am so sorry to have made you think we had."

 

Stiles is shaking, fingers gripping the edges of the Grimoire with such force that they're turning white at the tips. Talia's hand slides from his cheek to his neck, continuing across his shoulder and down his arm until it reaches his hand. Gently, she slips her fingers in between his. Another hand, larger, clasps his right shoulder. Stiles looks to find Brad smiling softly at him.

 

"You should talk to De," he says.

 

Talia's face lights up. "Yes! It didn't even occur to me, but that is exactly what you should do." She glances back, out the window, and says, "It's past time for lunch, so Brad and I will wrangle everyone up and have Deandra bring you your food."

 

Stiles nods, feeling almost empty as his fingers relax.

 

"It'll make more sense after you talk to De, okay?" Brad squeezes his shoulder before dropping his hand.

 

Stiles nods again.

 

"You'll be alright while we fix lunch?" Talia queries, eyes flying from Stiles' face to his chest.

 

"I'll just get started reading through the Grimoires," Stiles murmurs.

 

Both of Talia's hands come up to hold his cheeks for just a moment before she pulls away, leading Brad out of the library. Standing in the middle of this expanse of knowledge, holding one of the things his mother hid from him, Stiles feels as if he's back in his backyard, eleven and heartbroken.

 

+

 

The Grimoire, his Grimoire, is filled with spells that must have been passed down through his family line for years. Spells to help with everything; money problems, health problems, birthing, premonition, protection, even hair growth. It has details drawings of the Gods and Goddesses, of trees and plants, of phases of the moon. The illustrations are elegant, deep colors faded with time yet no less gorgeous. 

 

The main part is written in Polish, but someone's had the book rebound with English translations printed and inserted behind the original pages. That also explains why the outside is in such good shape, showing almost no signs of wear. There's so much information stored in this one book that Stiles feels bitter as he looks through it. There are notes on herbs and plants and other things that he could have used. Such as the fact that there's a special type of meadowsweet that has a purple stem that is much more potent than the normal kind, and what to use to create a better sleeping tea. He definitely could have used those facts a few weeks ago.

 

He stops on the page with his mother's spell written on it. The spell isn't complex, just incense and some candles around a caldron. In the margins is written a few flowers that help with divination and clairvoyant dreams along with the instructions on how to use them. He glances around at the library, at all the words, all the information stored in one place that no one has touched except Derek Hale, and feels overwhelmed for the first time since this entire shit started. How can he possibly search this entire room for one spell? Even with Derek's help, the odds of finding the exact spell that gives a Beta werewolf the necessary powers to turn a human are slim. The odds of finding who bit Scott were even slimmer. And, the odds of finding who cast the spell are near nonexistent.

 

Stiles' eyes slip back to the spell, gliding over his mother's thin script. He doesn't like using divination or anything of the sort. He has before, but he didn't like what he saw, didn't like knowing the future. He knows witches who have a niche for it, who make their living cutting the deck for people, but the very thought makes him queasy.

 

He shifts in his seat. His pocket sticks to his leg, the clump of club moss he shoved in there from the basement moves. He stares down at the small lump in his pocket, remembers the words he spoke just before something caught his eye.

 

_Great Mother, open my inner eye that I may truly see._

 

+

 

Stiles is searching through the Grimoire with the red binding when Deandra knocks on the open door. She's holding two plates and the smile on he face is tight, and a little sad. It feels strange to see her without a smile on her face, even if Stiles has only encountered her a few times. He thinks that maybe it's a little wrong for her to not be smiling. He motions her in, cleaning up the desktop as best he can.

 

"Wow, those are the magic books, huh?" Deandra says, mirth dancing in her words and on her face. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but it's something.

 

"Yep." Stiles smiles. He takes one of the plates from Deandra as she sits down. It has a chicken salad sandwich on it, accompanied by carrot sticks and a few strawberries. He pops one of the berries into his mouth, and it explodes in bright flavor. "Wow, these are great."

 

Deandra beams at him, and this time her eyes light up. "I know! Leslee and Al grew them."

 

"Right, Leslee and Al..."

 

Deandra picks up a carrot stick, smile still in place. "Leslee is my wife. The one with the short, red hair. Al is Brad's son, the short, dark skinned one with the freckles. He and Mak are twins."

 

Stiles has to think for a moment, sort out the Hales in his mind. "Oh, okay. I think I remember seeing them? Maybe?"

 

"Don't worry. You'll eventually be introduced." Deandra waves it off. She lifts another carrot to her lips, but pulls it back to stare at it before eating it. "They grew these carrots, too."

 

Stiles makes an impressed noise and eats his own.

 

Deandra sighs after swallowing her food. "They sent me up here to talk to you about Claudia.'

 

Stiles nods, eyes on his food as he continues to eat. The chicken salad is perfect.

 

"Stiles," Deandra asserts, waiting for him to look up at her. When he does, he finds her face carefully closed off, a mask in place of her usual light face. "Claudia was my best friend."

 

Stiles doesn't want to talk about this. He feels strung out, emotionally beaten. His body feels heavy and small, achy almost. "De-"

 

"Shut up," she cuts him off, "and listen."

 

He does as she says.

 

"When I was twenty-two, I walked into this coffee shop in town. It was one of those super indie ones that had poetry readings and small punk bands playing on the weekends, one of the many that started popping up around the eighties. And, your mom, Stiles. She just, people were drawn to her. She was surrounded by these people and she was reading their palms, and I laughed at her. We had an Emissary at the time, so it was silly to me that she thought she was actually do anything and she probably wasn't a witch. I asked her to read mine. She'd just gotten here, so her accent was still a little thick, and she took my hand and said, 'If you really wanted to know, you would have her cut the deck for you.' Everyone around us started laughing, but they had no idea." Deandra laughs at her memory. The sound vibrates through Stiles, pulls a small smile to his face. She looks wistful as she speaks, like recalling Claudia is something sacred and dear to her.

 

Deandra continues, "I brought her home, and boy was our Emissary pissed. She thought another witch was encroaching on her territory, and when we squashed that idea, their head went to a different place." She struggles some, biting her lip and shifting around her food, not meeting Stiles' eyes. "Back then, everything was about making the pack bigger, stronger. I couldn't reproduce with another woman, not in the way I could with another man, anyway." Her face is hard when she finally looks up at Stiles. "They used to ostracize young people that were infertile, Stiles."

 

Stiles' mouth falls open. It seems impossible that the people he's met could have ever shut anyone out for any reason, much less for something they couldn't control.

 

Deandra doesn't move her gaze from Stiles'. "My grandfather was Alpha at the time, and he became uncontrollably angry. They thought that I was bringing her home as my girlfriend, since I refused to take a mate." Suddenly, her face breaks, a smile emerging and a small laugh bubbling out. "Your mother walked right up to this half-shifted, incredibly angry, snarling werewolf and said, 'Well, aren't you just an pryk.' And, then she goes, 'Mam nadzieję, że twój fiut odpadnie,' which she told me later means I hope your dick falls off."

 

Laughter bursts from Stiles and Deandra soon follows him. They laugh until they hurt, tears forming in their eyes. It feels good.

 

"Yeah," Stiles says though the last of his chuckles. "She was something."

 

"Sure was," Deandra agrees.

 

"I'm sorry that your family was so shitty."

 

She shakes her head. "No, it worked out. Grandad died soon afterward, a victim of his own mad rage, and my mother became the Alpha. Luckily, I met Leslee after he died, and not before." She pauses, eyes shifting around the room slowly. "She left a few more things here. Some branches from a tree? And, a coin purse with some stones in it, but she brought to me later."

 

Stiles' mouth feels dry. "The branches were probably for protection." He hesitates, clears his throat. "The stones could be her ritual stones. I haven't been able to locate them."

 

Deandra's smile is soft. "You can have them back."

 

Stiles' body instantly relaxes and a breath sighs from his lips. "I- thank you. I didn't-"

 

"Stiles, they're yours. That book is yours. The sticks, the stones, all belong to you."

 

Stiles feels as though a weight has been lifted. He didn't realize the thought that he wasn't going to be allowed to have her things back had even made its way into his mind, but it seems to have taken a deep root there. A root that Deandra managed to rip out.

 

"Besides," she laughs. "I have you to remember her by now. I don't need anything else."

 

+

 

Stiles doesn't go down for dinner. Scott brings it up to him, eyes still somewhat sunken and movements sluggish. He almost tackles Stiles when Stiles tells him that he's found a way to make his sleeping tea more potent. They eat in relative silence, until Scott suddenly stills.

 

"I can hear them talking," he whispers, awe in his voice and on his face.

 

"Yeah?" Stiles questions, mouth full of potatoes.

 

Scott nods, face serious again. "They're talking about me. About the full moon next week."

 

Stiles stops chewing, thinking back to the basement; the chains and blood, the anger permeating the entire room.

 

"They're talking about a run through the forest. Before...before something."

 

He straining to hear, actually leaning toward the door. A little frantic, Stiles says, "Dude, I think that's kind of rude, right?"

 

"Aw, shit. I guess." Scott sighs, sitting up straight again. "Are you going to be much longer?"

 

Stiles looks over his mess of books and notes, a grimace pulling up his mouth. "Maybe a few hours? I can take it all home?"

 

Scott's smile is tired and small. "Nah, I can totally nap more in that bed. Just get me home at some point, okay?"

 

Stiles laughs and nods in agreement.

 

+

 

Stiles stumbles downstairs around nine to find the house mostly empty. There's a television playing old episodes of The Voice somewhere on the bottom floor, but he pushes back to want to go see exactly which one it is. He doesn't encounter anyone until he gets to the kitchen, and when he finds Derek leaning against the island, facing the oven, he almost turns back. But, his thirst wins, propelling him into the room and to the refrigerator.

 

Derek's head swirls around and he flinches when he spots Stiles, which is just awesome.He doesn't feel the man's wolf, and he contemplates reaching out for it but decides against it.

 

Stiles cracks open a can of Coke, takes a long chug of it before the smell hits him. "Dude, are you making cookies?"

 

The look Derek shoots him is angry enough to make him instantly regret speaking. 

 

Not one to show his fear, Stiles opens his mouth again. "Look, I'm sorry that you accidentally touched a Grimoire. Actually, I'm not really sorry about that because it's not my fault, but I am sorry that it freaked you out so much."

 

"It didn't freak me out," Derek rumbles, not softening his glare at all.

 

"You ran from the room." Maybe it's the way Stiles says it, or maybe it's just the fact he's acknowledging that it happened, but suddenly Stiles is being crowded against the fridge by a very upset werewolf.

 

"It's magic," Derek spits. "It's wrong."

 

"Wrong!" Stiles screeches. "That would mean that _I_ am wrong, and _my mother_ was wrong, and _everyone_ in my coven, and that's just ignorant. And, very mean! So, fuck you, dude. I apologized!"

 

Derek's face scrunches more, and from this close Stiles can see just how close his eyebrows draw together, how distinct his eyes are. He gets a little lost looking at Derek's features, until the were's nostrils flare. Derek's fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides and his breathe is coming out ragged, blowing against Stiles lips. His voice is much softer and sadder than Stiles expects, "It's evil."

 

Stiles' anger morphs into pity. He sighs, pulling his head back as far as the fridge will allow it to go. "Magic is neither good nor evil, man. It's all about how you use it. Magic has been here since the beginning of the Earth. It's woven into everything."

 

Derek's face doesn't change, and he doesn't move back right away, but his eyes flit all over Stiles' face as his breathing settles a little. He looks down, at how close their feet are, and the shuffles back some.

 

After a moment, Stiles breaks the silence, "Are you making strawberry cake cookies?"

 

Derek's eyes snap to his and he's happy to see them full of less anger and more curiosity. He glances back at the oven, scratches his neck some. "Do- uh, do you want some?"

 

It feels like the start of a peace offering, or maybe it's all the peace offering Stiles is going to get, but it seems like enough. Except, "Man, I would love some, but I've really got to get Scott back home. I can't wait on them to get done."

 

Derek shakes his head. "There almost done, just a few more minutes. I could pack you up some to take home."

 

Stiles grins. "Aw, that would be amazing. I'll just go get Scott up and gather my shit, alright?"

 

At Derek's nod, Stiles rushes out of the kitchen, throwing a thumbs up behind him on the way. He gathers his things quickly, shoving two of the Grimoires into his bag, his and the red one. He hesitates over the Spanish one before thinking, _Why not?_ and taking it, too. It doesn't take much of anything to get Scott up and moving out the door, and soon he's back in the kitchen where Derek is wearing an oven-mit on one hand and using a spatula to put the hot cookies into a tin with the other.

 

He closes it up as Stiles approaches, holding it out like a prize with his face schooled into something not so harsh.

 

"Listen," Stiles begins. "You can totally say no, but I could really use your help with the Spanish Grimiore..."

 

Derek stares at it then stares at Stiles, and Stiles is sure he's going to refuse. Then, he nods slowly, hands reaching out to trade the cookies for the book, which looks a little ridiculous since he's still wearing the oven-mit. It shouldn't make Stiles feel as good as it does, but he still feels the need to fist-pump.

 

"You're mom has my number, so just text me if you find anything interesting."

 

At Derek's nod, Stiles turns to leave, makes it almost to the door before Derek speaks, "This week, with Scott. Watch him closely, and call us if he needs help."

 

Stiles smiles at the advice. "Thanks, dude. Really."

 

Derek's face does something strange, but Stiles still counts it as a win.

 

He runs into Deandra on the way out who just smiles and drops a small purple bag on top of his cookies. She kisses his cheek as she leaves.

 

+

 

Stiles finds himself in her room, surrounded by the herbs and plants cut from her garden, staring into his cauldron that's flanked on each side be her stones and what's left of her candles. Incense burns, scenting the room and filling it with smoke.

 

And, as he reads from her spell, says the words, "Great Mother, open my inner eye that I may truly see," the water in his cauldron shifts. Images and smells and emotions wash over him, and suddenly he feels very happy and very confused.

 

Especially when Derek's eyes float in front of his and Derek's voice envelopes him.

 

Until someone else's bursts through, furious and sharp. Someone's he can't quite place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pst, if someone could be a beta that'd be super rad. Also, send me nice things because they make me feel super neato. xoxo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bros, broooooooos. Some shit went down. I fell into another depression hole and am just now crawling out of it. I'm so very sorry for the long wait. But I have a new beta so now I have two peeps yelling at me to write. I promise things are going to get more regular. This chapter is really like Chapter 4.2 or some crap because it's only ~2000 words long which is suuuper short for this fic. I'm working on the rest now. Be patient, please, loves. 
> 
> xoxo scoot
> 
> edit: I think I fixed the weird spacing thing?? If not, let me know and I'll see wth is wrong with it.

 

 

 

 

Stiles dreams about faces.  Female faces, male faces, old faces, young faces, blurry faces, sharp faces. He dreams of Derek's face and Scott's; of faces belonging to a brown haired man with a baby-face and a  brown eyed  woman with a wide smile; of laughing faces and screaming faces; of faces he recognizes and faces he doesn't.

Voices accompany them, but they're all mismatched.  The voice of a teenage boy speaking over the face of the brown haired woman. Derek's voice coming from Chris Argent's mouth. Tabatha's voice playing behind Lindsay's sad face on repeat.

Emotions fly around, visual representations of feelings and spirits.  Dark reds bleeding into light pinks.  Deep oranges shifting into dingy yellows.

Stiles finds  himself swimming in a dark pool of goldfish, surrounded by murky water. They nip at his  skin,  rub their bulging bellies over him. Their scales shine bright, like there's a light source ins ide of them. They morph into lee ches, latch onto his body and suck so hard he can feel the blood flowing into them. He opens his mouth to yell when the water begins to move around him, rolling him onto his stomach. From below him, a cry rings out, low and guttural. He strains to see through the murk and finds an alligator charging at him, mouth open and water forming long lines around its body. He tries to swim away but his body refuses to move. It's jaws close around his head right before his eyes snap open.

He's shaking under his  blanket,  skin sticky and hot, chest heaving. He flails around until he can get a hand around the cloth bag under his pillow, flinging it as far away from him as possible. He shifts until he has his back is against the cool wood of his headboard, shoves his palms against his eyes to help his mind focus and his heart settle. When he finally feels closer to normal, he opens his eyes to soft, blue light seeping in from his window. His clock reads 6:30 and he groans.

There'll be no going back to sleep for him.

+

His dad comes downstairs fresh-shaven and dressed in his uniform about an hour after Stiles. He accepts Stiles' offering of  Eggos , fruit, and coffee with a small nod.  Stiles stares at him from across the table as he eats, cupping his own mug of coffee in his hands.  It's gone mostly cold while he's sat, playing over his dreams. They don't fade like normal dreams; every detail remains as vivid and confusing as it was when he  dream t  it. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the faces in perfect detail.

The sheriff's eyes are misty from sleep, dark circles lining underneath, wrinkles set in deep around his cheeks. Stiles watches as he slowly works into his food, like it's a chore. The man's shoulders are rolled forward, his movements slower than normal. He looks exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says, voice cracking in the silence.

His dad stops mid drink, raising an eyebrow and donning a look of mild puzzlement. "Sorry for what's happening or sorry that your research is taking longer than you thought?"

Stiles glances  down. His notebook sits  in front of him, lists and thoughts scribbled on the page from his forced dream. "Both, neither. I don't know, Dad. I just- I don't know what I'm doing or who to trust. I keep finding things that she strategically left for me, and I-" He returns his eyes back to his father's, sees the sadness John is trying to hide. "I want to help, to fix all this crap for Scott, but how can I do that if I don't have all the information?"

The sheriff doesn't answer right away. Instead, he puts his mug down, turning it so Stiles can read the words printed on the ceramic. "The Best," it says in blue.  Stiles remembers  buying it for him only a few years after they lost her.

"Stiles," John sighs, picking up a blueberry and popping it in his mouth. His next words come out stiff and quiet, like he's struggling with the memories. "Your mother used to use her powers to help her figure out where to look next in a case. She would ask or something? I don't know; she explained it to me once, but I never did follow when she talked about that stuff. Kind of like when you talk about it..."

Stiles can't stop the small smile from creeping up his  face which  is met with a twitch of his dad's lips.

"She had one big case," John continues, twitch replaced by a slight grimace. "The last one. She worked on it for weeks, but there was just no new information. I couldn't help and all of her informants had already told her everything they knew. She hung onto it until the very end, and then she gave it up. The other attorney  came to see her at the hospital a week later; a different set of informants found more information. They had the guy."

"Was she mad?"

The sheriff's smile is fond. "She was ecstatic. She got so excited that the machines picked up on it and terrified the nurses."

Stiles grins at his dad's gentle laughter.  It's not often that he talks of her at all and to see him laughing at a memory of her makes Stiles' heart feel too big and his eyes wet.

"What I'm trying to say here,  son,  is that maybe you need to ask for some help." The sheriff's eyes cut down to the notebook and then back up to Stiles'. "There's no shame in it."

Stiles rolls  his lips in, fiddles with his mug a little to avoid looking his dad in the eye. His eyes catch on the words written in his notebook. They had smudged together in his haste to get them on the page, letters bleeding into each other. It reads like madness.

Brown eyesgoldfish pink  Alli gator ** Argent ** ???

A loud knock reverberates though the house, leaving Stiles' mouth open with what would have been an agreement when his dad goes to answer the door. Deaton's voice calms Stiles some as it precedes the two men into the kitchen. The man's spirit doesn't brighten up the mood any, sticking close instead of seeking Stiles out.  Stiles doesn't  reach his out either.

"Stiles," Deaton's smile is tight. "I'm glad you're still here. This information will be easier to discuss in person."

He places a stack of papers on the table before following the sheriff's example and sitting down. 

 

His magic still doesn't push against Stiles' as it normally does, and Stiles catches deep circles and drooping eyes that tell of how long Deaton has been at it. Stiles suspects he hadn't been asleep long before receiving the sheriff's call the day before, and probably hasn't been to sleep since.

Stiles glances at the papers, curious as Deaton fiddles with the edges some.  The one on top might be a list, but it's too far away and the angle is wrong for Stiles to read it clearly.

"Lydia sensed it," Stiles informs his teacher immediately, forgoing the customary greeting.

 

The man doesn't look surprised or miffed by the break in protocol, but he turns his head slightly, like he's considering something.

 

"Had you talked to her recently?" He continues at Stiles' nod,"That would make sense. You two are closely connected, even after all these years."

Stiles would like to say that he understood the feelings that statement along with the finality of his tone brought forward, but that wouldn't be true. Something like pride and sadness, along with a hint of disappointment.

Before he can analyze any further, Deaton continues, "I found some interesting things on the body, as well as around where it was left." He flips the first page over to reveal a photograph.

Both Stiles and his dad move to stand behind the Druid to get a better view.  Stiles is not prepared for the image of the top half of a person. It's a female, but Stiles wouldn't be able to tell just from the picture. She's ripped to complete shreds; her torso split open, ribs sticking out cracked and broken, some missing all together. Her chest cavity is visible through the ribbons of flesh and bone, blood soaking every part of her. There are four large claw marks starting at her left cheek and ending at her  collar bone  on her right side. Her arms are thrown out wide, claw marks painting the meat of them, hands out of frame. Her eyes and mouth are wide open in frozen terror.  Stiles has  to look away.

He hears Deaton turn to another picture. "Her body was too badly damaged to make out the marks Scott claims were drawn on her, but the surrounding area was left mostly untouched."

Swallowing down the bubble of sickness in his stomach, Stiles looks to find that Deaton had turned to first photo face down leaving only the second one visible. It's of the clearing where the girl was found, taken from high up to show a large circle drawn around the area. Inside the circle are markings, sharp and harsh, forming a boundary between where the body was and the lines of the circle, ranging from large to  small.  There's a large smudge in the middle of the circle where her body had been.  Stiles moves  closer as Deaton shuffles that picture to the side to reveal another. This one's closer, showing the jagged edges of the marks.

"These are-" Stiles starts, snatching at the second picture to get a better look.

"Yes," Deaton answers though Stiles hadn't really asked a question, or said a full sentence.

"What?" the sheriff asks, impatiently grabbing the picture from Stiles and staring at it. "They're all what? Do they mean something?"

"They're all wrong," Stiles replies, receiving a confused look for his efforts. "The ones in this picture are all different languages and religions." He moves around Deaton so that he can point to a smaller rune centered in the picture. "This one means gift from a few different timeframes. But, this one here," he points to another larger one to the left, "it means the letter M-"

"It also refers to the neck or upper part of the back, and love, and a few other things," Deaton points out.

"Yeah, but it's old Irish," Stiles finishes. He looks up to find his dad's face still confused. "They don't go together."

"So, you can't just put them together if you want to?" John questions.

"That would be ineffective." Deaton shrugs, pulling the next picture out.  It's another close up of the runes ,  a different set this time .

Stiles grumbles as he looks it over, "See, these are all screwy.  This is the letter A, and this is the letter L, but t hen under it is what looks like Chinese. And, they all look like they were written by a child."

"A child ?" the sheriff blurts. "Are you trying to tell me that  a child  did this?"

"Not necessarily." Deaton shrugs. He gathers up the other photos, carefully placing the one of the body under the rest. "It all looks to have been made by someone new to the craft. Be it a child or an ignorant adult."

"Great, so it could be anybody." The sheriff throws the photo he was still holding on top of Deaton's pile.

"Yeah, but they don't know what the hell they're doing," Stiles says, a small smile making its way up his face.

John glances from Stiles to Deaton, eyes narrowing. "And that means?"

"They wouldn't have known how to cover their tracks, or that they needed to at all." Deaton flips the first page back over, revealing a list. Stiles recognizes a few, Wolf Claw,  Featherfoil, and  Blackwort, but there are some that he's never heard of before.

"All of these were found in the clearing?" he questions, continuing to read down the list.

Deaton hums. "Some in the mixture used to write the symbols and some in the area surrounding. Thrown around at random."

"You investigated the area, right?" The question is aimed at Deaton, but his dad answers.

"He was taken there as soon as we could get it secure."

Stiles waits a moment, but when it seems Deaton isn't going to offer more than a nod, he prompts, "And?"

Deaton shrugs his shoulders slowly. "The spirits were confused, thrown off balance. A few reacted negatively to me being there."

Stiles nods, having expected that answer.

 

Spirits are fickle things, as are the Fae and the rest of the wild, and not properly asking for their help can cause severe backlash. Mixing up the runes and markings the way this caster did would only cause confusion and anger from the spirits. If some of these symbols were Fae specific, the caster may have an upset follower for a few days.

"Anything else?" Stiles shifts through the images as he talks, taking special care to shuffle them so the first one remains on the bottom. He pats them on the table to get them straight, catching sight of his notebook. His eyes snap to it, and he misses Deaton's response. "What, sorry?"

He looks to find his mentor also staring at the notebook with slight look of concern. The Druid shifts his eyes back to Stiles'. "There's a possibility that Tabatha will be paying you a visit soon," he says, face returning back to that carefully guarded expression it always has, not giving any indication that he was worried about Stiles' written ramblings.

"Fantastic," Stiles sighs. The only other time Tabatha had sought him out was when he had accidentally made Jackson Whitmore slam against the wall in eighth grade. That conversation hadn't been fun, and he suspected the one coming wouldn't be either. "This week will be  super  awesome."

"At least you get next week off," the sheriff says, the ringing of his phone punctuating his sentence. He pops it off of his waistband and squints at the screen. "That's work.  Alan,  thanks for all of your help. I trust the files have been emailed to me?" At Deaton's nod, he turns his eyes to Stiles, "I'll see you Saturday, and get some actual sleep." He waits for Stiles to agree before he leaves, the door closing gently behind him.

As soon as the door is shut, Deaton pulls Stiles' notebook to him.  Stiles doesn't  try to stop him, opting to sit down and grab his forgotten mug instead, chugging the thick, cold coffee. He forces the liquid down his throat, holds off from gagging as Deaton reads over his nonsense.

"Seems you have a lot to do this week," is all Deaton says, sliding the notebook back to where it had been before, rotating it so the words faced the correct way.

Stiles lets his eyes wonder over the words,  lets  them go fuzzy and soft. His body feels heavy, loaded down with doubt and unease. Deaton's spirit pushes into him slowly, a familiar pressure that calms him a bit. A small, "Yeah," slips from his lips as he draws tired eyes back up to his mentor's face.

Deaton nods, still not giving anything away. "I'll see you next week."

He doesn't wait for Stiles to validate the statement before he's up and moving out  of the room. Stiles waits until he hears the door close and lets his head fall to the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas! Please let me know what you guys think!


End file.
